


Seventy-Eight (The Paradox of Learned Helplessness)

by wellthisisprettyrisque (collettephinz)



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Awesome Weekes, College, F/M, Homosexuality, I took a lot of psych classes, M/M, Psychology, Punching Bag Ryan, Stanford University, Therapy, Trauma, protective Pete, repressed homosexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-23 09:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3762529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collettephinz/pseuds/wellthisisprettyrisque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan Ross is not made for University.</p><p>He wasn't made for high school.</p><p>He wasn't made for childhood.</p><p>He has a sneaking suspicion he wasn't made for anything. He wasn't sure he'd ever have anything. He just wanted his doctorate so he could talk to the only people that made sense (murderers and rapist and thieves).</p><p>He just wanted out. And he wanted it to be easy, for once in his life, let the world cut him some slack.</p><p>At this rate, there's a better chance of proving the existence of god.</p><p>(completed)<br/>(sequel pending)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seven Lions' December with Davey Havok

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so, to begin:
> 
> there will be graphic images of near-rape
> 
> that's chapter two and it's kinda a bit plot point? so you should try and read it if you can
> 
> this story kinda deals with some issues and unfairness that you are probably going to be met with in life (though hopefully not to this severity)
> 
> warnings are used for a reason.
> 
> and the chapter titles are actually the songs I was listening to when posting each respective chapter soooo...

It was a rough time to be trying to achieve a doctorate in just about anything. 

Medicine, Astrobiology, Philosophy, Physics.

You had to be a genius and a very, very rich man or woman to achieve a doctorate with today’s competitive graduate school cesspits of loose morals and desperation. To get into anywhere mildly prestigious, you either had to know someone or know how to suck a cock.

Ryan knew neither of these things.

So getting into Stanford’s Psychology graduate program had been a huge battle, both with himself and his passion and desire to become what he wanted, more than anything in the world. And it was the uniqueness of his dreams for his future that got him into Stanford, with a half-ride. 

Not a lot of people wanted to study prisoners on death row. Not a lot of people wanted to even touch the subject with verbal communication in private settings. Most people turned a blind eye to death row if they weren’t picketing and protesting with clandestine dreams of becoming someone famous through their abhorrence of execution. Few people out of high school wanted to do something for the betterment of others. They weren’t Bodhisattvas, nor the enlightened. They weren’t actually eager to change the world, but only their world. Very few acknowledged any reality beyond their immediate needs. Needs for a better home, or the flat screen TV your neighbor has. The six figure paycheck, the prodigy child, the recognition of those below. And no one was afraid to lie, cheat, steal, and even kill for a better future.

Ryan was very cynical about everything and found that the dying were the most truthful people in the world. 

And he only allowed himself to be plagued by minor concerns, such as his computer autocorrecting certain words to the acronym “DIC,” which was an intravascular coagulation process that involved blood clots that led to organ damage. He worried about bills, yes, and his part time job was hell. He loved working at the music store, as music had been his more unrealistic dream for his future, but the people that came into the store fancied themselves experts to everything and decided Ryan was the one in charge of stock and also deciding they needed to wax poetic justice on why Ryan didn’t know anything about good music because one album was not in stock.

Ryan hardly ever listened to these people with both ears, unless they mentioned something Ryan agreed with. Like the horrific lack of New Found Glory or Foo Fighters the store had. Ryan also believed that those bands should be second to none in a music store. Those conversations usually turned out to be rather enjoyable for Ryan. 

Still, everything was nonstop awful for him. He was four years into grad school, so close to getting his doctorate. He’d been stepped on and spit on and used like a fucking piece of trash, crumpled up and tossed away. He’d failed a class simply because the professor didn’t like the way Ryan worded his fucking sentences. He’d been cheated on twice in high school so he wasn’t eager to create relationships in college, had been mugged in the subway three times in one year. He’d lost his first apartment due to fabricated and false noise complaints because his neighbor had wanted his own friend to move in next door, where Ryan had currently been living.

But now, Ryan had reason to celebrate. He had one assignment/project left before receiving the doctoral degree he’d fought for for the past eight years. He was hoping for a paper, having to study something for his doctoral thesis. He was hopeful that he’d get this done in a month or so. He was positive he could tackle this. He’d written enough papers to be able to think them up in his sleep, he was going to ace this thesis.

. . .

“You’re to take a case study of a volunteer student on campus with no abnormal psychosis and provide therapy, then write a formal article on the student and what therapies you used to aid them in their development. You will also be evaluated by the student and their evaluation will be factored into your final grade. You will meet three times a week for an entire semester, including breaks and holidays.”

Ryan’s stomach dropped. He was not going to ace his thesis.

. . .

Ryan lied awake that night, looking through the small, two paged packet he’d been given on his assigned student. 

Brendon Urie. Male. Fourth year student in Stanford training to be a nurse in the CEPD program. Twenty-five years of age to Ryan’s twenty-six years. B-average student living in an apartment with one other person.

Ryan sighed and dropped the packet aside. The kid had been raised in a Mormon family. He was going to clash so badly with him. Ryan was strictly agnostic, he couldn’t prove or disprove the existence of a god so he just lived in this little gray area where his own morality was his personal bible and right and wrong was just something you should know of and choose between as a human being. He was responsible for himself. That was it.

From what he knew about Mormonism, it was almost cultish. Leaving the religion was difficult, and some people have had to move to a different state entirely just to escape the church. And they were very rigid people for those who claimed to preach unconditional acceptance. Ryan wasn’t very good at dealing with hypocrisy because he never addressed it, only stewed over it in his sleep. This was going to be a very difficult assignment.

. . .

“He’s waiting in room 47B,” the lady at the desk said. She looked older than most, crows feet in the corners of her eyes screaming of better days. Her lips were turned down in a frown and Ryan suspected she hadn’t smiled in long while. 

Ryan just nodded his gratitude and went down the hall. These were sets built like therapy session rooms. Ryan was familiar with the room he was assigned. It was his personal favorite and he appreciated being assigned a room that he knew fairly well. The room was dark mahogany with red leather seats. Two armchairs facing each other with a coffee table in between and a coffee machine on a table in the back between two large bookshelves. The color scheme was dark reds and browns that spoke of professionalism and age that the large, open windows softened, the entire room feeling more comforting, like the office of a strong father figure. Ryan didn’t know much about father figures but he’d heard other students describe the room to give off that vibe.

Ryan opened the dark wood door with the frosted window, only glancing at the way his first name initial and last name was printed on it. That was new.

He froze when he saw a strong, male figure facing the window and hoped he’d been quiet enough for the man to not turn around. Ryan darted for the desk against the wall of the door where he could put his laptop and notes and stuff. He turned his back to the other man’s back and shuffled through everything to get organized. 

“Hey,” an almost musical, yet deep voice greeted.

“Uh, h-hey,” Ryan stuttered back. He could handle murderers and rapist and abusers better than most people. It probably had to do with how he grew up around monsters. “Just, uh, gimme a moment. Sit in the chair closest to you, please, and, uh, think about something you wanna start out with. Any issues you can think of.” 

He heard the creak of leather as the man sat in the chair and kept himself busied with his notes to try and calm his shaking hands before he turned to face his… his patient. Ryan stacked some papers, then grabbed a yellow legal pad and a black pen. He turned around and faced his patient.

The man definitely wasn’t average. He had a square skull and a strong jaw line, large features that were arranged pleasantly on his face. His hair was dark brown and coiffed to the ceiling with some sort of gel, but nothing outrageous. He had large, rectangle glasses sitting on his nose and his lips were very full for a man. His shoulders were strong wide and he seemed confident in his body. From what Ryan could see, his left arm was inked and he had good muscle tone under the t-shirt he was wearing. Ryan blushed faintly when his brain finally realized that his patient was hot.

This was Brendon Urie.

Brendon Urie frowned. “Gonna stare all day?” he asked with a raised brow.

Ryan sputtered out something unintelligible and shuffled to his chair, sitting down and brushing his long, curly hair from his eyes, tucking a strand behind his ear as he looked over Brendon’s personal summary one last time.

“So, uh, you’re a med student?” he asked, just to get him talking.

“You didn’t ask me for my name,” Brendon said with a frown. “Didn’t even tell me yours. Were you raised in a barn?”

Barely raised at all, Ryan’s mind supplied. He winced, knowing he was off to a bad start. “I-I’m Ryan,” he said. “Ryan Ross. And you are?”

“Brendon Urie,” the man replied a bit gruffly. Fuck, this was going to give Ryan so much anxiety. He’d only been in the room with this man for five minutes and he already felt like he was going to throw up. Ryan’s hands were shaking worse than they had been before and he forced himself to press the tip of the pen into the legal pad to still the tremors, ink blossoming out across the page like cancer.

“Brendon Urie,” Ryan repeated dumbly. “Uh, h-how do you want me to address you?”

“Brendon’s fine,” he replied. “You’re not really good at this.”

Ryan winced. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

Brendon shrugged. “It’s whatever. So, what, I’m supposed to talk to you about my problems and you’re supposed to fix them?”

Ryan nodded. “Thereabouts, yeah.”

Brendon crossed his arms, sitting back with a sour expression. “Well, what do you want first?” he asked. “Family or friends?”

“Whichever is most important,” Ryan told him softly.

Brendon sighed. “We’ve got a patient confidentiality thing, right?”

“To an extent,” Ryan replied, because he knew this. “I’m to talk about you and your problems in my thesis, but not give away any details you explicitly wish to be kept private and I’m not to publish personal information as to who you are. Only I, and my evaluating professor, will know your name.”

Brendon nodded. “Well, then I guess we should talk about my girlfriend and our sex,” he said a bit stiffly.

Ryan was only partially surprised by his straightforwardness. Nurses and doctors were generally very open about sex lives and stuff due to their intimate knowledge of the human body and its normal, healthy functions. “Okay,” he said with a shrug. “Shoot.”

“I can’t get it up for my girlfriend anymore,” Brendon stated bluntly. 

Ryan was temporarily shocked into silence. “… Oh,” was all he could get out. Then, “I-I thought Mormons were against sex before marriage.”

“I’m not Mormon,” Brendon scoffed. “I was raised Mormon. There’s a difference. Honestly, all religion is stupid. Fucking dumb people following a false god like sheep. You’d think after years of genocide, humanity would realize that religion is the worst part of us.”

Ryan bit his lip, having no idea what to do from this point.

“I’ve been having sex for years,” Brendon continued. “With my girlfriend, her name’s Sarah. I’ve been with her for over four years, met her my senior year in high school. And everything was amazing until a few months ago. Suddenly my dick just stopped working.”

“Well, do you have any idea of what could cause it?” Ryan asked, knowing his textbooks. “I mean, maybe you’re in an unhappy relationship. Maybe you and her just aren’t clicking anymore, or maybe you’ve been arguing a bit more lately and your body finds it hard to relax and become aroused by her.”

Brendon scowled. “I don’t wanna know why,” he spat. “I wanna know how to fix it.”

Ryan flinched at the anger in Brendon’s voice. 

This was going to be very, very difficult.

Ryan opened his mouth to ask another question and figure out how to explain to Brendon that knowing the cause of a problem was how you figured out the way to fix it, but then Brendon was standing in a huff, grabbing his back, and striding out the door. 

Ryan watched him go with a blank expression. 

. . .

“I’m never gonna graduate!” Ryan cried out to his cat once he was home. “Fuck! Of course I get the most angry, stubborn, and repressed guy in all of fucking Stanford! Of course nothing goes my way! Of fucking course!”

Cpt. Knots watched Ryan with half lidded eyes. Ryan remembered reading that was a sign of affection. Or a territorial challenge. He didn’t remember which. 

“He’s just, he’s a prick,” Ryan huffed. “I mean, I’ve known him for all of ten minutes, maybe fifteen. And I’ve already offended him beyond belief with only a few sentences! I don’t know if it’s me or him! And I don’t know how I’m gonna get this paper written if this guy gets so mad at me with every word I say!”

Cpt. Knots mewled petulantly at Ryan. He sighed and sat on his sofa that became his bed at might. The joy of renting a one room apartment.

“I just don’t know what I’m gonna do,” Ryan whimpered, hanging his head in his hands. 

. . .

“Why don’t we talk about something else?” Ryan suggested the next session. He hadn’t slept a wink last night, so he was too tired to become really anxious or nervous. Brendon didn’t look any more friendly, but he wasn’t storming out the door, so that was a win. “What are you learning about right now? In med school?”

Brendon shrugged. “Direct blood transfusions,” he said.

Ryan nodded. “Do you like it?”

Brendon shrugged again. “It could be a lot worse. At least we’re not doing catheters anymore.” 

Ryan winced. “Okay, yeah. That’s gotta suck.”

“It really does,” the other man agreed with a hint of a smile. “Especially when you have to do it on your peers. We have to practice on each other. I’ve held so many dicks in my hands that it’s ridiculous.”

Ryan chuckled a bit, smiling tightly. “So, uhm, your girlfriend? Sarah?”

“You remembered her name?” Brendon asked.

Ryan nodded haltingly. “Uh, Sarah. What’s she studying?”

“Criminal Justice and Law,” Brendon said with a grin. “She’s actually in the Law program here with one of my friends. She’s a fucking genius. She’s doing so well, has a four point seven grade point average, which is basically impossible unless you’re her. She has an internship this summer with NATO.”

“That’s awesome,” Ryan agreed with a smile. “Does she have to leave for it?”

“Yeah,” Brendon said. “But she’ll come back. I’m gonna hold down the apartment.”

“Long distance is hard, isn’t it?”

Brendon shrugged. “We’ve done it before. We can do it again.”

“Do you think long distance is maybe why you’re finding yourself unable to preform sexually?”

Brendon’s expression went flat. “What are you trying to say?” he growled, sounding very unhappy. Ryan almost backed down from fear, but just shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant to cover his initial panic at Brendon’s agression. He didn’t want Brendon to walk away from him again. 

“Why don’t you tell me about Sarah?” he asked, wanting to move the subject along.

“She’s perfect,” the other man huffed. “She’s, she’s like the end line for me, you know? I’ve met her, so I’ve met my soulmate, and that’s it. Happily ever after, roll the credits, all that shit.”

“So you’re happy with her?” Ryan pressed. “You want her and you’re positive she’s the best person for you.”

Brendon looked uncomfortable for a moment and just shrugged. Ryan wanted to latch onto Brendon’s insecurity in his answer, knowing that there was a deep seeded problem that stemmed from Brendon’s relationship with Sarah.

“My friends say I should propose to her,” Brendon said. 

“Do you want to propose to her?” Ryan asked, knowing that he’d just have to follow the conversation Brendon lied out for him. 

Brendon shrugged again, for what felt like the millionth time. 

“That seems like a no…”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to marry,” he sighed. “I just, it’s kinda scary.”

“Commitment or marriage?”

“Marriage,” Brendon sighed. “I love her, but I feel like marriage would break the spell or something. I’m scared it’ll fuck shit up, you know? We’ll have to get a house and plan for a mortgage and all that shit. She’ll want security, and that means I’ll…”

When Brendon trailed off, Ryan knew he had to supply the word he was thinking. “You’ll have to grow up.”

Brendon scowled a bit, but didn’t respond. That’s how Ryan knew he was right.

“Don’t be scared of growing up,” Ryan told him softly. “Because honestly, no one ever really does. I know so many adults who have all these responsibilities and they’re still just a bunch of kids, you know? No one grows up. They just get more to do and more money to do it with and less time for anything else.”

“I don’t want that,” Brendon said softly. “I don’t want to lose what I have now. This freedom to go out with friends and get wasted. I don’t want to lose that.”

“Then don’t,” Ryan said with a simple shrug. “Don’t let that happen. It’s that easy.”

“Are you gonna grow up?” Brendon asked.

Ryan was quiet for a moment. “I hope not,” he said. “I don’t have much luck with the kindness of adults. I wouldn’t want to become something I hate.”

“Are you dating anyone?” Brendon asked, sitting forward and looking curious. “Or, like, got any closer friends?”

Ryan shook his head. “No friends.”

“No friends?” Brendon repeated, looking incredulous. “No, come on. You have to have someone. Everyone has someone.”

“I have a cat,” Ryan said. “I mean, he’s pretty great. His name is Captain Knots and he’s really nosy and pretty awesome. He doesn’t claw me up.”

“That’s sad,” Brendon said. Ryan did his best not to take offense. “I mean, really? No one? Just a cat? That’s fucking pathetic, man. I’m sorry, just, that’s gotta be so lonely. So fucking lonely. No one to call when you need help or when you need advice or when you just need someone to talk to. That’s so lonely. You’re lying, you have to have someone.”

“I don’t,” Ryan sighed.

“Did you ever?”

Ryan bit his lip. “I had a best friend. His name is Spencer, but he moved away.”

“And you didn’t keep in contact with him? Cause, like, he’s apparently your only friend.”

Ryan paused. “He moved away from me.”

Brendon’s expression closed. “Oh.”

Ryan shrugged. “It happened. It’s in the past. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“What lesson is that?”

Ryan smiled a bit, though it was hollow. “Don’t cry over someone who wouldn’t cry for you.”

. . .

The session was ended by Brendon soon after that. 

When Ryan went home, it was only slightly cloudy. Ryan wished, not for the first time, that he lived further up north so the weather matched his dismal and melancholic mood. He wished it would rain more often. He wished it would rain at all. 

Cpt. Knots didn’t greet him when he came home. That was actually rather normal for his cat. He only really attended to Ryan when there was a bag of food involved. Though it wasn’t like the cat had many places to avoid Ryan. He could hide under the sofa or creep into one of Ryan’s too empty cupboards. Ryan wasn't bothered by the fact that he had no one to come home to. He wasn’t.

Ryan went to bed without having said a word since he’d bidden Brendon goodbye.

. . .

“Hey, Ross,” one of the more influential professors called out. “We’re gonna go grab lunch. Why don’t you come with, we’re going to a vegan place, if that’s your thing.”

Ryan shook his head, not looking away from the computer screen for a second. He was organizing his notes before having a session with Brendon again, which was tomorrow. He was in the Psych building, which also the Sociology building. It had its own private library containing all the anthologies and thesauruses and encyclopedias that you could need. He liked to sit at this little collection of four desks that were back to back and bring up his laptop and work and study and just be generally obsessive until he had to go to work at two PM.

“I’m busy,” he mumbled. Ryan wasn’t sure if he was actually busy or not. He just didn’t want to hang out with the professors. He’d heard things about the professors exploiting female and male students alike, especially this one that Ryan couldn’t name, but knew by face. He didn’t want to get tied up in something like that.

“Maybe next time,” the professor said. He left, dragging his hand along Ryan’s shoulders and Ryan shuddered. He decided that he was going to have to find a new place to study. 

. . .

Rya was organizing the Pink Floyd vinyls by release date when he heard a familiar voice bursting into unfamiliar laughter. Ryan looked up and paled bit when he saw Brendon come into the music store, laughing boisterously with a shorter man with bleached hair and a taller man with sweeping brown hair that was trimmed well. All of them looked like models and Ryan felt overwhelmingly insignificant. He ducked his head and kept working, figuring Brendon wouldn’t want to admit going to therapy anyways, even if it counted for credits, as he was informed. 

“Oh, hey, Ryan,” Brendon said.

Ryan flinched and sighed softly enough for Brendon to be unable to hear. Then he looked up and tried to smile in a way that didn’t seem plastic. 

“This is the guy I was telling you about,” Brendon was saying as he walked towards Ryan with his two friends. “My therapist, you know?”

“The guy with no friends?” the bleached blond man said with a wolfish grin. He was eyeing Ryan up and down like he wanted to either punch or fuck Ryan and he was made uncomfortable by the stare.

“Ryan,” Brendon corrected, nudging the blond back, expression oddly tight. Ryan didn’t expect to see him look like that with his friends. “Ryan, this is Pete.”

Ryan nodded at the man but didn’t say anything.   “And Dallon’s back there.”

Ryan also nodded to Dallon who just waved three fingers. 

“You work here?” Pete asked, still grinning like he wants to do awful things. “I’ve been going here since I moved out here. I’m pretty sure I would’ve noticed someone like you.”

“Been here for five years,” Ryan mumbled, staring at the vinyls in front of him that he’s just thumbing through to feign business now that he’s looked away from Brendon and his friends.

“Five years?” Brendon cut in. Ryan could hear a frown in his voice. “I’ve been going here too. For a long time. What’s your shift?”

“Two to closing, open to lunch.”

“Every day?”

Ryan looked up at Brendon with a curious expression. “Why do you wanna know?”

Brendon’s expression closed shut again and Ryan’s interest was piqued over why that happened so often with Ryan. “Just wanted to know,” Brendon huffed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He pulled Dallon away from the rack of Tool CDs and made his friends leave the store with him. Ryan watched Brendon’s back until it disappeared. Then he went back to organizing the Pink Floyd albums with hands that trembled.

. . .

“You met my friends,” Brendon said, not giving anything away. “What did you think? Pete wouldn’t shut up about you.”

Ryan grimaced. “Did he?” was all he asked.

Brendon nodded. “Pete’s got this thing,” he explained. “He wants to fuck as many people as he can before college. He’d just had a one night stand with this Mikey guy last weekend and he’s scoping out new conquests. I think he wants the next one to be you.”

“Not gonna happen,” Ryan said rather sharply.

Brendon’s eyes narrowed. “Got something against gay people?”

“Not at all,” Ryan replied in a clipped tone, only barely stopping himself for confessing that he’s the opposite. “I have nothing against homosexuals. But I don’t like being sized up like a piece of meat.” Ryan spat that last part like it was a curse and it was the most emotion he’d ever shown Brendon. Brendon smirked a bit, looking impressed.

“I’ll tell him you’re off limits,” Brendon said.

Ryan actually relaxed a hint. “Really?”

Brendon shrugged, then nodded. “He’ll move on. It’s not the end of the world and not the first time he’s been rejected. He’ll be okay with it. I’ll just tell him you’re not interested and he’ll go to the next piece of ass.”

“Does he make a habit of objectifying other people?” Ryan asked, ever curious.

Brendon shook his head. “Not at all. Pete’s actually a human rights activist. Not the feminism or the meninism, just humanism. Everyone’s human and everyone deserves to be treated like they are human. He’s getting a law degree so he can actually stand up to corporations and shit, I think. He’s really smart.”

Ryan nodded, scribbling a note because knowing a patient’s friends was a way to know the patient. 

“Pete just wants sex a lot,” Brendon continued. “He enjoys it, you know? And when he’s with someone, it isn’t a quick fuck. He takes care of them, makes it about them. Honestly, I’d explain it as him using his own body to give people pleasure and just a night of nothing but the best. He gets off the most on getting someone else off.”

“Do you wish you could have a status like his?” Ryan asked to get them talking about Brendon again. 

Brendon frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Do you wish you could sleep around like him instead of being in a monogamous relationship?”

Brendon’s frown deepened. “Are you asking if I wanna be slutty?”

Ryan matched his frown. “You don’t seem to think Pete’s a slut. Why do you call yourself a slut when you would only be following a similar lifestyle?”

Brendon left again. 

Ryan sighed, packed up, and returned to his home that had started to feel emptier and emptier every day.

. . .

Ryan denied the professor again the next morning. He hadn’t found a new place to hide and the professor ran his hand over Ryan’s shoulders again. Ryan felt horribly sick because he’d been tense and anxious and he called in sick to work because he was so scared one of Brendon’s friends would be there. Ryan knew he should look into getting himself some anxiety medication, but he didn’t have any insurance and he couldn’t afford pricey pills. 

Ryan had been on his way home when he got dizzy and nauseous. He ended up stumbling into an alley way and vomiting with his head pressed against the grungy, brick walls, shaking and shuddering and sobbing between each clench of his stomach. 

A hand was on his back out of nowhere and Ryan cried out in learned fear, stumbling away and dropping to his knees next to a dumpster. His stomach was startled out of its purge, but Ryan still felt like his throat was going to fall out of his body. He looked up at whoever it was and recognized Pete.

“Dude,” Pete said with a frown. “I’m not gonna hurt you, jesus.”

Ryan whimpered, ducking his head again, hiding his eyes. He brought his knees closer to his chest. Pete moved forward, a hand held in front of him and Ryan could tell Pete was receding into a persona that Ryan couldn’t name

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he repeated and Ryan just nodded because what Brendon had said made Ryan believe Pete when he said he wouldn’t hurt Ryan. “C’mon, I’ll help you up. Where do you live? I have a car, I’ll take you home.”

“Don’ worry bout it,” Ryan choked out, already struggling to his feet. He looked past Pete out of the alley way and noticed that a couple with a child were watching them with wide eyes. Ryan grimaced and looked back to Pete. “I-I can walk,” he added. “It’s not far, just a block or so.”

“How many blocks?” Pete asked, expression saying that he wasn’t going to take Ryan’s shit. 

Ryan swallowed. “Eight.”

“I’m driving,” Pete said. “I’m at a meter at the next intersection, think you can make it?”

Ryan looked to his feet. “Don’t worry about it,” he said again, mumbling.

“I’m worrying,” Pete huffed. “You have two options. Follow me to the car and let me take you home or I drag you to the car and take you to Brendon for him to check you out. You could be really sick and I’m not gonna be the one to kill his favorite therapist.”

“I’m fine,” Ryan repeated, not dwelling on what Pete called him. It had to be sarcasm because there was no way Brendon could say Ryan was his favorite therapist without the statement being drowned in falsities. “I really am.”

“You’re not,” Pete growled and Ryan was surprised. Pete actually seemed like he cared a lot for a complete stranger.

Ryan decided he shouldn’t test Pete’s anger and nodded and stood, ready to follow him. Pete wrapped an arm around Ryan’s shoulders and Ryan grit his teeth to keep from flinching away. Pete led Ryan to his car and Ryan was a bit upset when he saw it was a Cadillac. But then he beat down that emotion of jealousy because for all he knew, Pete worked hard to earn the money he so obviously had. 

Pete carefully lowered Ryan into the car, even set his hand on Ryan’s head to help him duck and make it inside the low car. Ryan appreciated it and slumped back into the luxurious leather, catching a moan from the comfort he felt. He slept on a futon with a mattress barely two inches thick. This was heavenly. 

Pete slid into the driver’s seat and smirked a bit at Ryan’s expression. “You look like you’re getting some amazing head.”

Ryan went bright red and shook his head without hesitation. “The, the seats are nice.”

“Yeah, they are,” Pete said, smirk turning into a grin. “Fuck, I saved up for this baby for so long. So proud of this. I mean, you’d go to my apartment and think I’m rich as shit and fuck, but really, I just do a lot of overnight work for some pretty influential people.”

“Like what?” Ryan asked.

“I write speeches.”

Ryan’s brow shot up, impressed. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” Pete replied, still grinning. “Just gotta be good at something and know how to get it to the people who want it.”

“Brendon told me you’re a human rights activist,” Ryan said just because he could. 

Pete was smirking again. “Did he?” he hummed. “Yeah, Brendon’s a good kid. I’m getting a law degree to fight for human rights and shit, but not for, like, what people expect. I wanna fight for kids. The rights of teens and shit, kids who get hit and beat to hell by their parents. And I wanna fight to get the kid to the right parent cause the mother isn’t always the best.”

Ryan stopped asking questions when the topic hit too close to home.

“I just think it’s not fair,” Pete sighed. “It’s cruel, you know? Unjust. These kids get torn apart by the people that should be protecting them and no one gives two shits about what happens once the parent’s caught. They don’t care about what happens to the kid. It’s like they think the kids are wrapped up and locked away in an evidence locker. It’s fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Ryan mumbled. “Fucked up.”

Pete pulled up in front of the apartment complex Ryan pointed out to him and turned off the engine. “Want me to help you get up?”

Ryan shook his head, not wanting the man to see how horrible Ryan’s apartment was. He pictured a flat or studio apartment for Pete, nothing like Ryan’s crummy, one-room hell. Plus, he could be allergic to cats. “Thank you,” he mumbled before getting out of the car in a rush and just making it up the open-air stairs as fast as he could. He paused just before he went inside his home to see Pete pull out of the spot. He relaxed and went inside and collapsed on the couch without even making it into a bed.

. . .

Ryan was in charge of restock. He accidentally cut his finger on the box cutter. He kept working, not even pausing to wipe the blood. He kept cutting open the boxes with a robotic mindset and didn’t feel any pain until he was walking home and accidentally brushed the wall, dirt and scum getting into the cuts.

Ryan looked down at his hands like they weren’t his.

Then he kept walking, letting the blood drip, and tried to remember how he usually got blood to stop flowing.

. . .

“So Pete tells me he took you home,” Brendon said, still unreadable. “Said he found you in an alley, throwing up. What’d you do, drink too much?”

Ryan frowned a bit, but shrugged. “I must’ve caught something at the Uni,” he lied. “Why don’t we talk about your other friend? Derek?”

“Dallon,” Brendon corrected. “He’s a cool guy. Engaged to this girl he’s been with since high school, Breezy? They went through some tough shit, she had cancer. But she’s fine now. They’ve just got a shit load of medical bills.”

Ryan nodded, understanding that idea well. “What kind of friend would you say he is?”

The other man paused, obviously thinking it over. “He’s… He’s a father figure,” he finalizes. “Dallon’s strong, you know? After everything, he has to be. And he’s kind and supportive and nurturing. And he’s just a good person and he makes good decisions and he gives good advice.”

“So would you say he’s helped you figure out a few things you’ve wanted?” Ryan asked. “Maybe helped you work out some ideas, desires. What’s good for you, in the long run.”

Brendon shrugged. Then paused. Then nodded. “He’s been, uh, helping me through some stuff,” the man says.

Ryan really wanted to latch onto that suspicious statement, but he didn’t want anger Brendon out the door again. Ryan’s found himself becoming more invested in Brendon’s wellbeing and psychological growth than he is looking for his final thesis. “Do you trust him?” he asked instead.

Brendon doesn’t hesitate when he nods. “He’s always been there for me. I know he always will be.”

“And you trust him to help you work through whatever this problem is?”

Brendon looked slighty pleased that Ryan wasn’t digging. He nodded again, grinning just a bit. “I know he’s gonna help me come to the right decision.”

Ryan met Brendon’s smile and tried his best to make it real. 

“I hope he does help,” Ryan said softly. They were both comfortably quiet for a moment.

“Penis,” Brendon suddenly blurted out. 

Ryan blinked. “Come again?”

Brendon bit his lip. Then repeated, “Penis. I’m having… I-I’m dreaming about men. In sexual ways. And I can’t seem to see past it to Sarah anymore. So I’m lacking in bed, so to speak. She doesn’t know about the dreams, but Dallon does. I’m thinking of telling Pete cause he’s so open about sexuality and shit that I think he can help. That’s what the problem is.”

Ryan nodded slowly. “Do you think you could maybe be bisexual or maybe even gay?”

Brendon left quicker than he ever had before, but not quick enough for Ryan to miss the look of fear replacing the usual anger on Brendon’s face.

. . .

Ryan fell asleep near the door, propped against the wall, notes scattered around him. Never could he have ever guessed that Brendon would have actual repressed sexual urges about the same gender. He fell asleep looking over all his notes from previous lessons, wondering how he could have missed it.

Before falling asleep, Ryan felt like he had failed both Brendon and himself. He’d taken psychology classes for eight years, he knew how humans worked and what they were thinking and why and how it made sense to them even when it was the most evil and cruel thing they could’ve ever done. Ryan sometimes hated how well he understood what criminals were doing and why. He hated himself for understanding why his father did those things to him. He hated that he understood the sick thoughts of rapists and murderers and psychopaths. He hated how easily he could understand.

But just before passing out from exhaustion, Ryan hated himself more than ever for not being able to say the words Brendon had needed him to say at the very beginning of these sessions. 

. . .

Ryan called in sick again the next day and went straight to the Psych building. He needed to brush up on his sexual phobias and dysfunctions so he can better help Brendon work past these feelings and rekindle his relationship with Sarah. Brendon being happy had become the most important thing to him in the course of a night. He didn’t know how to handle this overwhelming need to help someone who was angry with him at the end of single time they ever met, in and out of the sessions. He just knew he needed to make Brendon’s life okay to even start to feel any better about his own.


	2. Mugshot with Max

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> friends helping friends in desperate times of need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> graphic depictions of non-con
> 
> you have been warned

Ryan was holed up in the back of the library at a desk when the professor came by again.

“Hey, Ryan,” the man greeted. Ryan looked up at him for the first time in a long time and feels sick when he saw the smile on the older man’s face that dripped with horrible intentions. Ryan should have known this would happen. His college (and life) experiences were too horrible for him to get away without being violated just once. Ryan felt even sicker in the face of his own apathy.

“You kept saying no when I invited you to lunch,” the man said in a soft tone that made Ryan’s skin crawl. “For a second, I thought you were playing hard to get. Then I realized you just didn’t want anything to do with me.”

Ryan stared up at him with a resigned expression he’d worn for most of his life.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I locked the door,” the man continued. “And it’s well into the evening. Did you even notice the time going by? I’ve actually stood by the bookcases back there, watching you quite bit today. It looked like you barely even knew the day was flying by you.” The man placed his hand on the desk, blocking Ryan in with his body and the wall beside Ryan’s desk. “It’s late, you know. There’s no one in here. And this building is pretty old. We don’t even have cameras in here.”

“Please just get it over with,” Ryan pleaded in a hushed whisper. The poison smile grew.

“That’s the best line of consent I’ve heard in a while.”

The man ducked his head quick as a viper and claimed Ryan’s lips. The younger man whimpered and shook, but knew he couldn’t fight back. He was a virgin and a recluse and a true weakling. He could probably figure out how he’d been asking for this anyways. Still, Ryan couldn’t stop himself from pressing against the wall and trying to escape the other man. 

And when those cold fingers grabbed Ryan’s legs and actually forced his knees apart, Ryan began to cry. It was quiet, only tears running down his cheeks, but the way the man parted their lips and laughed when he noticed made Ryan feel that much weaker.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” the man breathed against Ryan’s skin. “Do you remember when we met? The TA introduced us, I answered your questions. You looked so scared of me, so intimidated. I think that’s what turns me on the most.” The man breathed raggedly against Ryan’s lips and Ryan cried out softly in absolute terror. “Your fear. It’s the only thing that can really get my blood boiling anymore.”

The man’s hands were still forcing Ryan’s legs open wide and he was rocking his crotch against Ryan’s hips. He could feel the man’s erect cock pressing against the hem of his jeans. Ryan knew he was going to throw up after this. 

“Scream,” the man growled, his grip on Ryan’s thighs growing tighter, bruising his delicate skin. “Scream. It’ll make this all the better for me.” Ryan choked on a sob and, for the first time, tried to push the professor away. The man’s hands left Ryan’s thighs and pinned his wrists above his head. He was between Ryan’s legs and Ryan couldn’t close them now.

“Scream,” he hissed. “Scream!”

Someone behind them screamed, bringing a chair down on the professor’s head. The man dropped like he was made of lead, lying across Ryan’s body. Then the professor was torn away and actually thrown to the ground. Ryan forced his eyes open just in time to see Pete drive his foot into the professor’s ribs again and again and again, eyes alight with fire. 

“You fucking sicko!” Pete shouted as he drove his foot into the professor’s side one last time. Ryan heard something crack. He couldn’t move, couldn’t pull himself out of his chair. Every inch of Ryan felt like acid had been poured on him and he knew he was still crying. 

“Fuck, Ryan,” Pete gasped, moving forward and standing in front of him. Ryan couldn’t help it. He flinched and cried out again in fear, pushing himself against the wall.

“Please don’t,” he begged shamelessly, shaking his head. “P-please, don’t, I c-can’t, I don’t know what you want from me, please don’t touch me.”

“I’m not gonna touch you,” Pete said firmly. “Except to help you stand.” Pete pulled Ryan up by holding onto Ryan’s arms and it oddly helped. Ryan was taller than Pete. Instinctually, he felt like he was a little more in control over what was going happen to him. “Come on,” Pete mumbled, still pulling Ryan along, though gently. “You’re staying at my place.”

“N-no,” Ryan choked out, trying to pull away.

“Yes,” Pete insisted. “Dallon’s there with Breezy. We’re not going to hurt you. But you just… Fuck, Ryan, you can’t be alone. Not after that.”

“Gotta feed my cat,” Ryan said. 

“Look, Ryan, you’re gonna go into shock soon, and once that happens, I’ll basically be able to get you to go wherever I need you to,” Pete told him in a rush. “I would rather you be aware of where you’re going so you don’t freak out too much when you come back at my place.”

“Why were you in here?” Ryan asked.

“I sit in on a Child Development Psychology,” Pete replied. “I was writing a paper in here to collect the notes. I was sitting next to the Pre-K section, now do you understand what I am telling you? You are going to my apartment.”

 

Ryan just nodded dumbly at this point. “Your apartment,” he repeated.

“You’ll be safe there,” Pete promised. “Do you want me to call Brendon?”

Ryan shook his head. “I-I’m not his friend.” He could write a paper about how he had phrased that. Just referring to himself as the point of regret spoke volumes. Ryan realized, in that moment, that he wanted to be Brendon’s friend. But Brendon wouldn’t want him to be his friend. 

“I won’t call him,” Pete said, and Ryan knew he heard the same thing in Ryan’s words that he had. “C’mon, walk with me for as long as you can. It’d look weird if I dragged a body out of here.”

“My bag?” Ryan asked, looking to his backpack. Pete scooped it up and collected whatever pieces of paper struck him as important. Ryan wasn’t sure about what was important in there anymore. Things seemed a lot more dismal. Maybe he’d kill himself tomorrow night.

“My car is in the lot,” Pete told him. “Stay with me, okay?”

Ryan nodded and followed him robotically, trying to figure out who he thought would take care of Cpt. Knots the best after he was dead.

. . .

Ryan didn’t remember a thing up until Pete’s car comes to a stop in front of what has to be his home. Ryan looked around with heavy eyes, looked up at the building with the bright lights and the big, open windows. He knew Pete lived here because he worked for it. Ryan wished he could’ve worked for more things for himself.

“Hey,” Pete spoke softly. Ryan whipped his head in the direction of the voice and stared at Pete. “I called Dallon,” Pete continued. “He and Breezy, they’re gonna help. Breezy is an EMT, she knows how to deal with shock and shit. She’s gonna handle you with kid gloves, okay? You have no reason to be afraid of her or Dallon or me.”

Ryan just nodded again. 

Pete was quiet for a moment. “Why didn’t you fight back?”

“I’ve never fought back,” Ryan replied readily, because Spencer had asked the same question a long time ago and it was still the same answer. “Made the bruises easier to heal.”

Pete just stared back at him. Then, he got out and rounded the front of the car. Ryan didn’t follow him with his eyes and just registered that it was Pete he could hear, opening the door. Pete’s arm on his shoulder. Pete’s voice in his ear, asking him to get out of the car. Ryan did as told and kept his head ducked, standing there and waiting for Pete to tell him where to go.

“I’m at the top,” Pete said, and Ryan can hear a wince. “There’s an elevator. Are you cool with small spaces?”

“Sure,” Ryan lied.

“Okay,” Pete sighed. “I have your bag. Want me ahead of you or behind you?”

Ryan actually appreciated the question. “Behind,” he said. “Just, tell me where to go? And don’t let anyone sneak up on me.”

Ryan knew Pete understood the amount of trust that went into that answer. It was nice to know someone who understood the depth behind words like Ryan, and apparently Pete did. It was a relief to know how loaded your own answers were and also know that the loaded answers weren’t being taken at face value. 

Pete walked two feet behind Ryan and Ryan could feel his presence against his back and, for the first time since high school, he didn’t feel alone. 

. . .

“I’m Breezy,” the beautiful, brunette woman said with a gentle voice and even gentler smile. Ryan was kinda stunned by her when he first saw her. Nothing like romantic attraction; he was just arrested by how universally gorgeous she was and how kind and real her smile was. “I’m Dallon’s fiancée, I’m an EMT for the local emergency response services. Can you tell me what you’re feeling right now?”

Ryan thought about it for a moment. “I’m cold,” he replied.

She nodded. “Pete says you were in shock in his car, though it seems it was temporary. Can you tell me if you have any injuries? Any cuts or broken bones?”

“Just bruises,” Ryan said offhandedly. “Nothing I haven’t had before. Just ice and they’ll be fine.”

She looked impressed by the answer, but not in a good way. “Do you want me to check you over?”

“I-I’d rather not,” he mumbled. “Sorry, just… I-I don’t think I can handle that. Not right now.”

Breezy nodded again. “Of course. Pete’s offered his shower. Do you want to take a shower?”

“No.” Ryan shook his head. “I-I don’t trust myself not to do something stupid.”

She paused. “Do you have a history of self harming tendencies?”

He shook his head again. “Just get desperate to feel clean.” Another loaded sentence. Pete, from behind Breezy, suddenly looks a little sick, like Ryan had been when the professor had pressed his cock against Ryan’s body before—

Ryan whimpered then gagged, nothing coming out, not even stomach acid. But it was enough for Breezy to put her arm around Ryan’s shoulder and bring him to the kitchen sink, just in case. Ryan stared down at the stainless steel sink and hoped he didn’t actually throw up because he didn’t want to get an appliance this nice so dirty. He convulsed again, entire body seizing up in a desperate attempt to get something out, but again, nothing came. Ryan sobbed once he got his breath back before it happened again and again. Ryan saw spots from the oxygen deprivation. 

“Please tell Brendon I won’t be seeing him tomorrow,” he gasped before blacking out and slipping to the floor.

. . .

Ryan woke up in someone else’s bed. 

He remembered whose it was only a few seconds later.

Then he remembered the professor.

Then he remembered Brendon.

As Ryan lied in Pete’s bed, staring up at the ceiling, he realized how much easier it was to breath when he thought about Brendon.

“Hey.”

Ryan sat up and looked to the doorway, which was to his left. A window reaching from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, was to his right. Dallon was in the doorway with a tray in his hands, a mug and a plate holding toast atop plates.

Dallon stepped carefully into the room. “Breezy said this is the most you should eat. She doesn’t want you eating a feast and then throwing it up. Says it would create more stomach acid from digestion and burn your throat.”

Ryan nodded, because he knew that and he knew Breezy was right. “Thank you.”

Dallon nodded, setting the tray down next to Ryan. He stood straight again, paused, then asked, “Wanna talk about it?”

Ryan shrugged. “He’s a professor in the Psych department,” Ryan said. “He’s known for being… Bad. He’s known for being bad. He’s not a good person. A lot of students know he isn’t any good, but he’s got tenure. He’s one of the leading, modern scientific minds in Psychological history. The Dean doesn’t want to lose him. No one wants to lose him.”

Dallon went quiet. “That’s fucked up.”

Ryan smirked and it was lifeless. “Many have tried to get him,” he continued. “All have failed. Who he is and what he does hasn’t even gotten to anyone outside an eight year plan in the Psych department. Literally no one knows. No one that could help us, anyways.”

“That’s really fucked up,” Dallon said. “No, like… Jesus.”

“He’ll probably stop now,” Ryan said. He grinned a bit. It was real. “Pete hit him with a chair. For me. It was…” Ryan sighed. “I mean, maybe it wasn’t for me. Pete probably would’ve done that for anyone, right?” He ducked his head, knowing he needed to put himself back in his place. “I’m not special. I’m not his friend.”

“Are you saying that for me or yourself?” Dallon asked. Ryan looked up to see him frowning. “Pete likes you, Ryan. After he picked you up that one time you were sick, he’s talked about you almost nonstop. He wants to know you. He wants to be your friend. Brendon’s comment in the shop hurt him, Ryan. Pete can’t live in a world where good people feel alone.”

“I’m not good people,” Ryan said. “I mean, I think. I don’t like myself all that much.”

“I like you,” Dallon said with a shrug.

“Why?” Ryan asked.

“Brendon’s told us about how you’ve helped him,” Dallon said. “The stuff you’ve said. It’s really helped him a lot. Helped him think, you know? Cleared his head, set the facts straight.”

Ryan scoffed. “Did he tell you how many times he walked out of a session?”

“Yeah.” Dallon smirked. “He’s a diva, sorry. What he lacks in human decency, he makes up for in roaring jokes and accidentally endearing comments.”

Ryan shrugged. “Wouldn’t know.”

Dallon sighed. “He doesn’t hate you, Ryan. You just, you challenge him. We, we just ask him to be a better person. You force it from him without even trying. That’s kinda amazing, Ryan. I’ve never met anyone who can do that.”

“Sarah could,” Ryan said. “Sarah should. That’s what a good, well functioning relationship is.”

Dallon just grimaced, and shrugged. “Not my place. Sarah’s awesome, though.”

“I’m sure she is,” Ryan agreed amicably. “Brendon thinks very highly of her. Loves her. That much is obvious. It’s nice, really. I’ve seen a lot of messed up relationships and things, it’s good to come across something as wholesome as that.”

Dallon just kept grimacing. 

Ryan sighed, then gestured to the food. “May I?”

“Shit, yeah,” Dallon said, stepping back. “Look, Pete is clawing at the walls. He wants to call the police but they won’t do shit if you won’t testify, or whatever.”

“I’m not pressing charges,” Ryan said. “All that’ll do is cost me my doctorate.” He sat back, nibbling on the toast. “A lot of people have tried everything,” he said. “Everyone’s just resigned themselves to fighting back should they have to, but nothing past the incident itself.”

“But you didn’t,” Dallon said. “Pete said you didn’t cause you don’t like fighting back. Or that you don’t. Or something.”

“I don’t,” Ryan affirmed. He finished one of the loaves. “My dad was abusive. Not, like, sexually. Just physically, thank god. But, uh, he hit me enough for me to learn a few things. It hurts less when you close your eyes and relax. If you don’t tense for it, the bruises are generally much lesser and you’re also less likely to break a bone. It’s the best way to survive a drop, too. And a plane crash. Shock absorption or something.”

Dallon grimaced deeper. “Is that why you’re becoming a therapist?”

“I’m not becoming a therapist,” Ryan denied, shaking his head as he started the next loaf. “I can’t do that. I can’t sit there and listen to thousands of problems and not take them on as my own. No, I-I’m gonna interview. I’m gonna do research. Work with people on death row, find better patterns. Maybe I can help create a future where we see the characteristics of violent men and women before they even go into their double digits.”

“That’s pretty hopeful,” Dallon said. “You sure you can do it?”

Ryan shrugged. “I have to try, don’t I?”

Dallon opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted when Brendon was suddenly in the doorway with a horrified expression.

Ryan’s eyes went wide and he scooted up the bed to the headboard, panicked. “W-what’s he doing here?” Ryan choked out, looking to Dallon with answers with fear in his eyes. “W-why’s Brendon here?” Dallon looked clueless.

“Breezy told me you got hurt,” Brendon said in a rush, moving to his side. “Fuck, Ryan, did she check you out? Are you hurt? Is anything broken or sprained?” His eyes caught sight of something around Ryan’s waist and his expression became unreadable. “Who did that to you?”

Ryan looked down and realized he had horrid, dark bruises around his wrists from where they’d been pinned above his head. He shuddered and didn’t answer.

“Who did that, Ryan?” Brendon almost growled.

“Jesus, B.” Pete was in the room, arm hooked under Brendon’s arm and forcing him to move away from Ryan. “He’s fucking scared, please tell me you see that.” Pete stood between Brendon and the bed, hands up to keep Brendon from moving any closer. “It was a mess, okay? But Ryan’s fine now. He’s gonna be okay.”

Ryan could see Brendon and he had never imagined that kind of look on Brendon’s face. It was equal parts sick and outraged, like he wanted to hurt someone. Like Brendon really, really needed to get his hands around someone’s neck. Ryan knew Brendon had a temper and an equally short fuse, but he never imagined he could put that kind of expression on Brendon’s face. Ryan didn’t know if it was a good or a bad thing. 

“What happened, Pete?” Brendon was demanding. “Who did that to him?”

“A fucking bad person,” Pete said. “Now calm down. Ryan’s kinda freaked out, B. You’re definitely not helping. You’re not helping at all. He’s scared, okay? And stressed and he got hurt pretty bad, Brendon. Give him a break.”

“Fuck.” Brendon ran his fingers through his hair, tugging a bit. Ryan wondered if that was a nervous tic of his. “The guy got arrested, right?”

Pete just shrugged. 

Brendon scowled. “He’s going to be arrested, then, right?”

“How do you know it wasn’t some fight?” Pete asked. 

“Because Ryan doesn’t fight!” Brendon shouted. Ryan flinched a bit. “Ryan can barely stick up for himself when he’s the fucking doctor and I’m the fuck up! Ryan can’t fight for himself! Ryan can’t fight for anything! He can’t, Pete, and he would never start a fight. Ryan doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, there’s no way he’d start a fight, even if they were saying the most vile, fucked up things about him.”

Ryan winced when he realized how accurate that was.

“Ryan doesn’t fight, Pete,” Brendon repeated in a low voice. “He doesn’t. So whatever happened, more than likely, wasn’t his fault.”

Pete sighed. “We can’t have the man arrested, Brendon,” he said after a moment. “There’s a lot of people that are pretty high up that are protecting him. He’s done stuff like this before and people have tried to take him down, but they can’t.”

Brendon began to look a bit alarmed. “Pete,” he murmured. “What happened to Ryan?”

Pete grimaced. “He doesn’t want me to tell you.”

Brendon scowled. “Ryan!” he snapped. Ryan flinched. “Fucking tell me what happened, Ryan! Because none of this is adding up to anywhere great and I’ve heard shit about your fucking fucked up Psych department!”

“I-I’m sorry,” was all Ryan could say. Pete sneered and shoved Brendon back.

“Don’t fucking yell at him,” he ordered. “Ryan’s been through hell, Brendon. He doesn’t need you shouting at him like he’s done something wrong!”

“I’m not shouting at him because he’s done something wrong!” Brendon cried out. “I’m shouting because there’s a fucking monster out there who’s been raping people and I’m fucking terrified that Ryan was his latest victim!”

Pete shut up abruptly. That told Brendon everything he needed. Ryan wasn’t sure how Brendon had found out or heard about that monster in the Psych Department. He could have sworn no one outside the doctoral program knew.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” he hissed, looking like he meant it. “No, Pete, I’m going to fucking kill that man for touching Ryan! I’m gonna fucking kill him!”

“Don’t,” Ryan choked out, trembling. “P-please, Brendon…” He doesn’t know what he’d thought would happen when he spoke to Brendon, but he hadn’t expected Brendon to actually calm, to actually stop ranting. He hadn’t expected Brendon to listen to him. “I-I don’t want anyone to find out about this,” Ryan whimpered. “Please, don’t tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone?” Brendon repeated, sounding incredulous. And he looked offended. “Why the fuck do you think I would do that? Do you honestly think I’m that shitty of a person? Do you see me as the guy that goes parading around with other people’s secrets like a piece of shit?”

Ryan flinched again and shook his head. “I-I don’t know,” he fumbled to say. “Just, d-don’t. Please? I know people do things. I don’t l-l-like to assume all p-people are good.”

Brendon was frowning, but he relaxed. “I’m not telling anyone shit.”

Ryan nodded.

“And you’re not walking around that shitty building alone ever again,” Brendon said. Ryan opened his mouth to protest, but Brendon interrupted him. “I don’t even know how you can stomach going back there after getting fucking violated, Ryan.”

“I-it didn’t happen,” Ryan murmured. “I mean, it almost did. But Pete hit him with a chair.”

Brendon glanced to Pete and managed a smile. “Yeah, well, Pete’s pretty fucking reliable. And he definitely doesn’t back down, especially when he’s protecting his friends and shit.”

“Friends?” Ryan repeated, still confused by this.

“You’re my friend, Ryan,” Pete said. “And Dallon’s friend. And Brendon’s. We’re your friends. Okay?”

Ryan nodded dumbly.

Brendon sighed. “Gimme your hands, Ryan,” Brendon asked. “I’m gonna see what I can do for those bruises, okay? Can’t show up to class like that. People will think you're into some kinky shit.”

Ryan managed a smile as Brendon sat on the bed beside him. He watched the other man take his hand with a careful grip, just barely brushing his fingertips over the injured skin. A soft hum escaped Brendon’s lips and Ryan looked up, peering at Brendon with a shy gaze. Brendon’s dark lashes and dark brow was beautiful against his fair, clear skin. Ryan’s heart skipped a beat and he felt dizzy with the sudden realization that he felt something for Brendon far beyond his curiosity and envy.

Fuck.

. . .

“Didn’t you have somewhere to be today?”

Ryan stopped himself from leaving the bathroom just in time. He heard Brendon and Dallon just outside the door. He couldn’t stop himself from listening, even though he knew it was wrong.

“What are you talking about?” Brendon asked, sounding annoyed.

“The wedding,” Dallon huffed. “Sarah’s sister? You know, if you really want to save your relationship with her, you probably shouldn’t back out of plans you’ve had for over a year that are concerning her closet friends and family.”

“I don’t want to fix it anymore,” Brendon said. 

Dallon went quiet.

Ryan felt like he couldn’t breath.

He’d failed.

He’d failed Brendon.

Fuck.

“So you’re breaking it off,” Dallon sighed. “For real?”

“Yeah,” Brendon replied, sounding tired. “I’m gonna talk to her this weekend.”

“Need a place to stay?”

“No,” Brendon said. “Pete’s gonna let me stay here.”

“Okay,” Dallon sighed again. “Okay. Fuck. I, I hope it goes well. I’m sorry, Brendon.”

“It’s okay,” Brendon replied. “Just mad I couldn’t have figured this out sooner, before I hurt her, you know? Half of her youth has been wasted on me. Makes me feel like a really big fucking asshole. Beautiful woman like that wasted on a faggot like me, all for—”

Ryan knew he shouldn’t have burst in like he did. He knew Brendon and Dallon would realize Ryan had been listening. But Ryan also knew he couldn’t let Brendon think about himself in such an awful way.

“Not a faggot,” Ryan gushed, hyperaware of the way Brendon and Dallon were looking at him, eyes wide and shocked. “Brendon, you, you’re not a faggot. Don’t say that about yourself, don’t ever say that about anyone, but mostly yourself. You’re not a faggot, you can’t be a faggot, like, ever. A faggot is a derogatory term that’s been popularized by the media and twisted to mean something less than it does. But it’s a hurtful word and shouldn’t be used by anyone, especially about themselves.”

“You were listening?” Brendon asked.

Ryan winced. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I, I know it was wrong, I’m sorry. You can hit me if you want.”

“Jesus, I’m not…” Brendon stopped himself and sighed. “Ryan, I’m not gonna hit you. And I’m sorry about what I said. Okay, I’m not a faggot. But I’m a pretty fucking shitty person, am I right? I’ve been leading that woman along and she’ll have nothing to show for it!”

“If she really loves you, she’ll be happy that you’ve found yourself,” Ryan said. “That’s, that’s how this works. She’ll be hurt, yeah, but if she loves you, she’ll be happy. Sad, but happy.”

“You live in a perfect world, don’t you?” Brendon asked.

“Furthest thing from that,” Ryan replied, laughing a bit. It was fake and Brendon probably knew that. “I mean, no. No, I, I don’t. Live in a perfect world. My world actually kinda sucks. But, uh, I know what’s good, you know? And I know what people would be like if they were truly kind. And Sarah seems like a kind person, a really good person who cares about you. She won’t be cruel to you like a lot of people can be.”

“Really?” Brendon asked, looking skeptical. “You honestly think she won’t be upset?”

Ryan shrugged. “Not if she loves you.”

Brendon sighed. “I hope you’re right, Ry. Otherwise, I’m gonna have a pretty shitty weekend.”

Ryan ducked his head and left, but was still close enough to hear Brendon hiss, “fuck, so fucking lucky I didn’t say anything that while he was listening.”

. . .

Ryan stayed with Pete for another night.

He found himself really liking Pete.

The guy was kind and generous and he didn’t lie like Ryan thought most people did. He was always so helpful and truthful, even if it was considered rude, and he loved to play music. Ryan loved being around music, more than anything. It was hard to afford a phone other than the shitty flip phone he still had from the outdated early 2000s and he couldn’t afford an iPhone or anything and his CD player had crapped out on him four years ago. He hadn’t heard music he enjoyed in years. It was like breathing freely after drowning in a fast moving river. He couldn’t get enough of it.

The morning of the last night Ryan was planning to stay over, Pete came in with Cpt. Knox and a backpack Ryan didn’t recognize full of clothes he did recognize because they were his. 

“Your wallet had your address on it,” Pete said. “I didn’t mean to pry and stuff, but I really don’t like thinking of you living by yourself. Especially after I saw that apartment, no offense. It isn’t shitty or anything, but it’s not exactly in a good neighborhood. So why don’t you stay here with me and Brendon?”

“I-I don’t want to be a bother,” Ryan stumbled to say. He honestly hadn’t prepared himself to be hit with this question after waking up this morning. He hadn’t expected for Pete to find his home and even care about where he lived.

“You’re not a bother,” Pete said with an easygoing smirk. “You’re, like the raddest dude I’ve met in a long time. And by the way, you’re welcome to mess with the guitars whenever you want. Don’t tell me it’s not your thing, I saw how your eyes lit up and your fingers twitched. It’ll be awesome to have a third musician around that isn’t an arrogant piece of shit prodigy like Brendon.”

“I’m the best around and you better learn to like it, Wentz!” Brendon called out from the living room. It was Saturday and he was waiting for Sarah to get off work so he could take her somewhere private and drop the news. Ryan could see in every muscle of Brendon’s body that he was nervous and tense. He only wished he could help ease Brendon’s anxiety somehow.

“I really want to hear you play, Ryan,” Pete kept saying after rolling his eyes at Brendon’s antics. “And I want you to stay here. There’s something a lot better out there for you, Ryan, and I’m gonna help you find it. So just, like, stay here, where I can see you and make sure you’re not getting mugged or something. Or worse.” He sighed and went down on one knee, letting Cpt. Knox go. The petulant cat strolled right past Ryan and went to the kitchen to sniff around. “I’m gonna have to insist you stay here, Ryan. Especially since your landlord was already advertising to sell your place. I just barely convinced him to give me your stuff.”

Ryan sighed and hung his head, running a hand through his hair. Legally, he still had two more months on that lease, and it had only been a week since Ryan had payed rent, meaning he was being swindled and tricked out of his home. But he was too tired to fight it.

“Can I please stay here for a bit?” he asked in a tiny, sad voice. Pete’s expression fell to something that was probably full of pity and Ryan’s face burned with shame. “I promise it won’t be for long,” he continued. “I can pay part of the rent. I-I think I still have my job. If I explain what happened, I’m sure they’ll keep me on, but my next paycheck will be less so I’ll give you as much as I can.”

“You’re a guest,” Pete said, cutting him off. “And my friend. You’re not paying a cent to this place, okay? You’re gonna stay here cause it’s safe and I care about you. And your weird cat. That thing doesn’t have an affectionate bone in its body. Seriously, it’s the epitome of indifferent.”

Ryan chuckled wetly at the accurate description and shrugged. “Sorry for being a b-bother.”

“You’re not a bother,” Pete said, moving forward and wrapping his arms around Ryan. It felt kinda amazing to be held and Ryan leaned into the embrace. “You’re my friend, Ryan. And friends take care of each other. That’s just how it works. When you care about someone, you’ll do anything to keep them safe.”

“I’m sorry I’m not good enough to take care of myself,” he mumbled.

“Nah, that’s not how that works,” Pete said. “People who can’t take care of themselves aren't like that by choice. It’s generally just the world fucking you in the ass. I know you’d be taking care of yourself if you could.”

Ryan winced and nodded. “It’s scary out there,” he whispered.

“Fuck yeah it is,” Pete sighed. “But you’re not alone anymore, okay? It’s gonna be good soon, maybe even now. Hell, I could take you out to dinner or something and we can just hash out everything for you. Maybe go lazer-tagging. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Ryan choked on a laugh and shook his head. “That does sound fun,” he admitted contrary to the gesture. “But, uh, I-I don’t want to cost you any more money than you’ve already had to lose cause of me. And I don’t really go out all that often. Or, like ever.”

“Well, you will, some day,” Pete huffed. He pulled away from the hug and grinned up at Ryan. “I like you, kiddo,” he said. “Lemme be your friend.”

Ryan smiled shakily and nodded. “Okay,” he mumbled. “Uh, I-I wanna be your friend too, then.”

“Awesome,” Pete said, smirked. “C’mon, I was gonna go grab some pancakes from that diner down the road.” Pete lowered his voice. “Brendon loves those and I have a feeling he’ll need them after today. We’ll grab him a cake, too, an apology cake or something like that, you know? Maybe a card. Congrats on being gay.”

Ryan grimaced and nodded his agreement, following Pete back out of the apartment with an off feeling of camaraderie that he hadn’t ever felt before. He just knows Pete makes him feel so unbelievably safe and he’d like to hold onto that feeling for as long as he can. 

. . .

Brendon didn’t come home until late that night.

When he did, he was hammered. 

“It’s your fucking fault!” he shouted, swaying on his feet, finger cutting through the air to point at Ryan like a knife. “Everything was fine before I met you! I, I had the dreams but everything was fucking okay! I could ignore it! Then you showed up and everything just went to shit! Now she’s fucking gone and I can’t stop looking at you like—”

“Brendon, fucking stop!” Pete snapped, pushing Brendon back, getting between him and Ryan. Ryan shuddered in relief. “Go to fucking bed, Brendon! Sleep this off and then act like a god damn adult!”

“I am a fucking adult!” Brendon shot back, sounding more and more like a child. “She’s gone, Pete! And I fucking deserve it! God, fuck! Fuck these fucking dreams!”

“There just dreams, Brendon,” he sighed. “And so what that you think you’re gay! There’s nothing wrong with that!”

“It’s fucking dumb,” he whimpered, anger dying in a few seconds, falling away to tearful eyes and Ryan stepping around Pete to held him. 

“Brendon, it’s okay,” he tried to say in a soothing manner. “You don’t have to know anything about this, you don’t have to be anyone or anything yet, okay? Just, just take your time and think about this. It’s important, you know that. But don’t think that you have a time limit on this sort of thing, okay? Just make your decision when you’re ready.”

Brendon whimpered again and nodded, leaning forward and resting his head on Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan hesitantly wrapped his arms around Brendon and held him close, frowning in confusion at Pete over Brendon’s back.

Pete sighed and shrugged. “Come on, B,” he prodded, reaching forward and pulling Brendon back gently by his upper arm. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Brendon nodded and shuffled away with Pete to the guest room. Ryan slept in Pete’s bed with Pete. He didn’t know why Pete insisted on that, he just knew it was because Pete didn’t want Ryan to sleep with Brendon. 

So Ryan went to Pete’s bedroom and got ready for bed. He remembered they still had those pancakes and that cake on the counter and went back to the kitchen to put it all away so it wouldn’t get ruined over the night. When Ryan put the food in the fridge, he walked past the guest room and he heard Brendon arguing with Pete.

“You just want him to yourself, Pete!” he heard Brendon shout. Ryan flinched and tried to separate the yelling of his, his friend? From the yelling of his father. “It’ll be you just watching him sleep like a fucking weirdo or something!”

“Jesus, Brendon, don’t you hear what you’re saying?” Pete sounded very tired. “I’m not doing anything with Ryan. You know that. And even if I was interested, I wouldn’t sleep in the same bed as him. It’s not fucking appropriate and he almost got raped two days ago. I’m not this fucking monster that you seem to see me as.”

Brendon whimpered audibly. “I’m sorry, Pete,” he said. “I just… You, you know why. You know what’s wrong. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, B,” Pete sighed again. “I’m here for you, okay? You’re not alone.”

“Thank you.”

Ryan swallowed hard and went back to the bedroom, feeling like absolute shit. He couldn’t help Brendon even if he wanted to. He was the worst therapist ever.

. . .

Cpt. Knots ran away that evening and Ryan never saw him again.


	3. A Light That Never Comes with LP and SA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> music and making mistakes go hand in hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey man ryan's gotta get a break one of these days right?

Chapter 3

Ryan woke up cradled against Pete’s chest.

It was really kinda nice and the safest Ryan had ever felt upon waking up.

He curled closer and nuzzled into the warm sheets and Pete’s body. He wondered if this was what it would feel like if he woke up next to Brendon. The thought made his heart skip a beat and Ryan tensed, now knowing what to do about what he wanted.

He sighed and tried to relax again and maybe think about something that could make him happy again, or at least not so anxious over Brendon. 

Fuck.

What Ryan needed was a good ego-death. He needed to forget everything about who he was and what made him who he had become. He wanted to be a different person. Someone confident and collected and smart and someone who could be what Brendon wanted in a man (or even a woman, if need be). Fuck, Ryan just wanted to be someone that other people wanted. 

“I want you,” Pete mumbled, half awake. Ryan looked up at him with wide eyes, not sure if he’d been saying those things aloud.

“Not everything,” Pete sighed, looking more awake by the second. “Just the shit about wanting to be someone else. Someone wanted. Something about ego? You talk to yourself a lot, you know that? It’s a sign of genius. It’s you working through the thoughts in your head. It’s a really good habit to have and one used to some of the most intelligent minds in our world’s history.”

“Ego death,” Ryan said. “It’s, uh, it’s a complete loss of subjective self-identity. Like, how you have to lose yourself to reinvent yourself.”

“I like how you are,” Pete yawned. “You’re pretty rad. And Brendon likes you this way too. He’s just kinda shitty at showing it. And I’m sorry for how he blew up at you last night. Once I tell him the things you said, he’ll be groveling at your feet. It’s a nice view.”

Ryan giggled a bit. 

Pete grinned. “I like your laugh. You should totally do that more often.”

“I-I’ll try,” Ryan stammered, blushing a bit, embarrassed by the compliment. 

Pete stared at him for a long moment. 

“The professor,” he began carefully, though Ryan still stiffened. “Was… Was he your first, Ryan?”

Ryan blushed deeper. “F-first what?” he asked, even though he knew what Pete was getting at.

“You’re first,” Pete repeated with a shrug. “Or would’ve been. Sex.”

Ryan nodded wordlessly.

Pete winced. “Have you never dated?”

“I dated two girls in high school,” he said. “They, uh, they cheated on me. Probably because I didn’t put out.”

Pete winced. “High school was pretty brutal for us all.”

“Really?” Ryan asked. “Even for you?”

Pete paused. “I, uh, I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder,” he said. Ryan nodded in understanding, very familiar with the disorder. “I didn’t handle it well. I thought it would help to know the name of what was tearing me apart, but it didn’t. It only made things more frustrating. I got bad in high school. And uh, my freshman year of college? I, uh, I-I overdosed in a Best Buy parking lot on pills.”

Ryan was quiet for a long time. “I’m glad you didn’t give up there,” he murmured. “You’re doing something really good with the life you held onto.”

“Thanks,” he breathed, relaxing. Ryan knew he had been looking for acceptance with that story and was happy to give it. “Uh, but, yeah. It was tough. I’m just happy I stuck around after a friend saved me. It gave me a passion I never thought I could have.”

Ryan smiled and bit and nodded, knowing the feeling of what it was like to finally have a purpose.

“While we’re on that topic, Ryan,” Pete said. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“What?”

Pete bit his lip. “You were abused, right? By your parents?”

Ryan swallowed and nodded. “My dad, really. My mom, she left him and didn’t want to take me. When I asked her why, she said it was because I was the mistake that ruined their marriage. She didn’t want me to ruin the rest of her life. My dad was just violent.”

“I’m sorry,” Pete sighed. “I saw it in your eyes the day I told you what I wanted to do with my degree.”

Ryan nodded again. “Hit kinda close to home. Literally.”

“I’m sorry,” Pete murmured. 

Ryan smiled again and shrugged. “I like that you get it,” he explained. “I like that you understand, to an extent. It makes me feel less alone and like I’m stumbling around int he dark. At least you know about the things I’m trying to get through.”

“Same here,” Pete replied. “I mean, you probably know more about Bipolarism than I do, right? Not, like, first hand. But you know how to deal with it and how to help. No one else knows how to do that.”

Ryan nodded a third time. “Maybe, we can help each other?”

Pete grinned. “I’d fucking love that. Now let me make you waffles to show my gratitude.”

Ryan giggled and got up to let Pete bound out of bed, following him into the kitchen and feeling a little bit more at home than before.

. . .

Brendon stumbled out of his bedroom while Ryan and Pete were feasting on a plethora of waffles because Pete hadn’t wanted to open the box and leave some of them in the box. Ryan looked up at Brendon and smiled and Brendon barely managed to return it.

“Feel like shit,” he told Pete, then glanced to Ryan before sitting down at the island counter they were eating at. “Can I have some?”

“Apologize to Ryan first,” Pete said.

Ryan expected some hesitation or protest to the order, so he was surprised when Brendon immediately turned to Ryan with a remorseful expression. “I’m so sorry, Ryan,” he said. “I, I don’t know what came over me. I mean, I do, it was the alcohol but that was no excuse and it definitely wasn’t something I do, even when drunk. I’m not like that. I’m not cruel and loud and stuff. That’s not who I am and it was so horribly wrong of me in so many ways to treat you like that. I had no right and you didn’t deserve it.”

Ryan was stunned and barely managed a nod before he cleared his throat and smiled a bit. “I forgive you?” he said, unsure if he was really even upset at Brendon as to merit Ryan’s forgiveness. “I-I don’t mind, Brendon. I understand why you were upset. You had every right to be.”

Brendon sighed and ducked his head, resting it on the counter. “You’re way too good of a person, Ross.”

Ryan just continued to eat his waffle and wondered why Brendon made it sound like that was a bad thing. 

. . .

When Ryan went to work the next morning, he was kinda shocked when he wasn’t greeted with sour looks and a pink slip or something, telling him that he should have called in and all the things he’d expected to be told before being fired.

Instead, he was welcomed with wide, worried eyes and sincere apologies and well-wishing, people telling him they hoped he was okay. Ryan went into his boss’s office and explained what happened, minus some details. He just said that he’d been violated. That was it. And Ryan was sure that the expression he’d worn when he’d told his boss had been what convinced him of the truth. So his boss told him he’d still be paid the adequate hours for the days he’d missed and he could take few more days off if he needed. Ryan had declined because he really wanted to get working again. It made him feel less cluttered and useless.

Halfway into his morning shift, Pete came into the shop with Dallon and two containers holding four cups of coffee each, one stacked on the other expertly.

“Hey, Ryan,” he called out with a laugh. “I brought you and your coworkers coffee. Just wanted to check up on how you’re doing. Maybe brighten up your day if you need it. The fact that you’re working tells me that you weren’t fired, right?”

Ryan smiled and nodded. “They kept me on,” he said in a quiet voice. “Once I told my boss what happened, she said she’d keep me on and even pay me for what I missed. She offered time off but, you know. I-I like to keep my hands busy, sometimes. Makes me feel like I’m actually working for something in my life.”

“I feel ya,” Pete hummed, pulling one of the drinks of the top tray. “I got you a vanilla bean frappe thing, thought you’d like sweet things over bitter.”

Ryan nodded, and took the drink. “Thank you,” he told Pete with a smile before taking a swig and moaning at how good it tasted. He hadn’t been able to afford coffee most days and definitely couldn’t afford a coffee maker of his own, so he rarely ever had coffee or even caffeine in general. “This is amazing,” he gushed, looking to Pete with sparkling eyes. “Like, fuck, thank you so much Pete.”

Pete was blushing faintly and Ryan wasn’t sure why.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You have a really hot moan,” Pete blurted out. It was Ryan’s turn to blush scarlet. “Like, I know that’s probably super weird for me to say. It kinda is. But I’m serious, Ryan, that was a sexy moan and I’m about one naughty thought away from popping a stiffy right here, right now.”

“Jesus, Pete,” Dallon groaned. “Why don’t you just give everyone their coffee and walk it off.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Pete hummed, leaving to divvy out the drinks.

“I’m sorry about Pete,” Dallon sighed. “I mean, you live with him now and you’ve heard a lot from Brendon, but it never really prepares you for the shit that can come out of his mouth.”

“It’s okay,” Ryan told him. “Openness of sexuality and sexual urges can be objectively freeing to the mind and can aid in development of sexual preference and sexual desires in a partner and in mental healing of previous stunted sexual urges.”

Dallon stared at him. “Only you can make Pete’s crazy sound sane.”

Ryan grinned a bit and shrugged.

“Mind pointing me to your favorite music?” Dallon asked. “I’m looking to listen to something new. As long as it’s not country, I’m down.”

“Uh, sure,” Ryan said, leaving the shipment he was unpacking. He led Dallon to the Classic Rock section and held out the Beatles’ White Album. Dallon laughed a bit.

“Never pegged you fora hippie, Ross,” he said. “You know, I’ve only ever heard Yellow Submarine.”

Ryan shrugged. “That’s a good album, no shame in that.”

“No, like, the song. Just the song.”

Ryan paused. “… What?”

Dallon shrugged. “My dad was more into the Steve Miller Band.”

Ryan shoved the White Album into his chest. “Listen to this and be reborn.”

Dallon chuckled and nodded, tapping the CD in his hand. “I’ll be sure to. Bring me to the register so I may be on the path of enlightenment.”

Ryan giggled and led him to the front, ringing him up and discussing musical tastes with the other man. Neither of them were majoring in music or anything, but they shared twin dreams of following the music in their heads. That’s where Ryan learned that Pete could also write and compose. He felt a bit sad that it was so difficult to follow your true dreams in this life. The desire was there, but so was the fear of failure. And fear was definitely stronger than passion, in Ryan’s opinion.

“You’re coming home after your class, right?” Dallon asked as conversation ebbed naturally. Ryan nodded. “Okay, we want a system for that. When you leave class, we’d like it if you called me or Pete or Brendon. We don’t want you to walk home alone.”

“Why’s that?” Ryan asked with a slight frown.

“Because you’re kinda a magnet for bad things,” Dallon sighed. “I mean, you get that, right? A professor tried to rape you. You got sick walking home and almost passed out in an alley way. I’m pretty sure you’ve ben mugged before, right?”

“Three times,” Ryan admitted.

Dallon gaped. “Jesus, kid, you’re like the pied piper of awful! Yeah, no, you call one of us. We’ll drop everything to get you home safe, okay? Seriously, you’re the unluckiest guy I’ve ever met.”

Ryan shrugged.

“Call one of us,” Dallon insisted. “Please.”

Ryan nodded.

“Thank you,” Dallon breathed, slumping a bit in relief. “You’re a good kid, Ryan. You don’t deserve the shit the world has been throwing at you.”

Ryan shrugged again. “It’s how it’s always been. I’m just happy to have people that care now.”

“Yeah, well, I think we’re gonna stick with you for the long haul,” Dallon said cryptically.

Ryan opened his mouth to ask what Dallon meant when Pete was suddenly at his side, placing a huge, sloppy kiss to Ryan cheek, giggling like a loon.

“We gotta go, RyRo,” he said. “We’ll see you after class, okay? Did Dallon talk to you?”

Ryan nodded. “I’ll call,” he promised.

“Thanks,” Pete grinned. “Come on, Weekes! We gotta hustle!”

Dallon waved goodbye as Pete pulled him from the store. “I expect to be a different person when you see me again, Ross!”

Ryan giggled and waved back. 

“I like your friends,” Ryan’s boss said as she came up to him with one of the cups of coffee in her hands. “They’re good people.”

Ryan hummed and nodded, saying, “yeah, they really are,” as he went back to unpacking the shipment, a feeling of happiness and belonging swelling in his chest.

. . .

“Ryan?” Ryan’s professor for his Psychopharmacology course, a class he was taking for the credits, called out. “The head of the Psych department wants to speak with you.”

Ryan tensed and packed his back as slowly as he could, not at all wanting to go to the department head. People sent to her were usually students who were failing or were going to fail or students who were a disgrace and a problem. He hoped he wasn’t any of those. He usually just kept his head ducked and hoped no one noticed him. Apparently, someone had.

Ryan walked to the department head office and knocked on the door with a shaking hand.

“Come in,” came a soft, lilting voice.

Ryan pushed the door open and saw the department head. It was an elderly woman with her hair dyed brown and graying roots. She was wearing a grey suit over a purple shirt and her eyes were crinkled with crows feet in the corners. 

“And you are?” she asked.

“Ryan Ross,” he replied. “I was told to come see you?”

“Ah, yes,” she said. “I’m Dr. Haise. I’ve been Department Head for about twenty years, Mr. Ross. And I’ve been working closely with my staff for many years and many of them have become my family.”

Ryan sat in one of the chairs once she gestured for him to do so, not liking where this was going.

“Someone I believe one of your friends, a Mr. Wentz, has brought to my attention that you have been assaulted by one of my top professors and leading scientific researchers.”

Ryan swallowed heavily and nodded.

She smiled like the devil. “Then I’m sure you can assume what I’m about to say next. If you trying to report Dr. Marker to the police, I will have you thrown out of the Psych program and the entire school. I’m sure you understand why I can’t allow one of our highest grossing professors to come under attack.”

Ryan felt like he’d had ice shoved into his spine. “I-I won’t say anything,” he choked out. His stomach churned and he began to feel light headed.

“Good,” Dr. Haise said in a cold voice. “You may leave. And if I hear anything about you or Mr. Wentz, you will be expelled and stripped of any title or degree you may have achieved with no refund to your payments and immediate payments due to your debts.”

Ryan nodded, stood, and stumbled form the room. without a word, trembling. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Brendon because he really wanted to see Brendon more than anyone else. He had to sit on a bench on campus as he waited for Brendon to pick up, feeling even more dizzy. 

“Hello?” Brendon answered after a moment.

“I-it’s Ryan,” he gasped. “Pete gave me your number, j-just in case, for the thing, remember? Uh, I-I-I just got told some bad stuff and I r-really don’t feel okay. Could you maybe c-come…” Ryan felt like shit for asking Brendon to do this. “Nevermind,” he whispered.

“No, hey, Ryan,” Brendon said. “Tell me where you are. I’ll be there in a second, okay? Where are you?”

“I-I don’t want to be a bother,” Ryan whimpered, feeling less and less coherent by the second. 

“Please, Ryan…”

“I-I’m at the Centre for A-Advanced Study in Behavioral Sciences,” Ryan said. “Off of Alta road.”

“I’ll be there in a second,” Brendon repeated. “Taking Pete’s car. Just find somewhere to sit down and don’t do anything that could hurt yourself, okay? I’m on my way.”

“I’m sorry,” Ryan whimpered.

“Don’t be,” Brendon said. “I’ll be there soon.”

Brendon hung up and Ryan sat back against the bench, staring up at the sun through the leaves of the tree above. It’s almost soothing, the way the breeze obstructed the sunlight in a pattern that Ryan only noticed once he stared for what felt like hours. He didn’t even notice when he fell asleep.

. . .

“Ryan,” called out a soft voice, pulling Ryan from his hazy sleep. He felt warm and relaxed and almost peaceful, the cool breeze brushing his face like a pair of gentle fingertips. Ryan moaned softly and lolled his head to the side. The breeze continued to graze his skin.

“Ryan, hey…”

Ryan sighed and opened his eyes. He looked up at Brendon, then saw Brendon’s arm moving out of his line of sight. That was when Ryan realized it wasn’t the window touching his face, but Brendon’s hand. 

“Hey,” Brendon breathed, smiling gently.

Ryan groaned and sat up straight, looking around with bleary eyes. 

“You okay?” the other man asked, standing close to where Ryan sat. Ryan looked up at him again and shrugged. “The car’s just over there,” Brendon said. “Come on, let’s get you home.”   
“Okay,” Ryan mumbled, standing on shaky legs. Brendon wrapped an arm around Ryan’s shoulder and held him up and out, encouraging Ryan to lean all of his weight on himself with gentle touches and a soft word of encouragement, saying he could take it. Ryan believed him. He probably flipped bedridden people onto their sides day in and day out. Regardless of the height Ryan had on him, he knew Brendon could hold him up if he had to.

“I’m expecting you to tell me what’s happening once we get home,” Brendon said. “I’ve texted Pete and he’s gonna come back as soon as possible. He’s gonna bring home some food and shitty movies.”

“Does this sort of thing happen a lot?” Ryan asked.

“Not really,” Brendon replied. “But it doesn’t bother us. We like you. We want to be friends with you and all that jazz.”

“So I’ve been told,” Ryan said. “… I have a question, Brendon.”

“I might have an answer,” he hummed while carefully lowering Ryan down, helping duck his head to get him into the passenger seat without getting hurt. Ryan noticed that Brendon had Ryan’s bag slung over his shoulder. He was really a considerate person. 

“Do you wanna do the sessions at Pete’s house?” Ryan asked after Brendon was in the driver’s seat.

Brendon’s expression tightened. “I think you should get a new patient, Ryan.”

Ryan’s face fell. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he said. 

“Why?” Ryan asked.

Brendon went silent, obviously thinking about something. “I’m emotionally attached to you now,” he said. “It’ll be harder for me to answer certain questions and even harder to deny you the truth.”

“You shouldn’t lie to me in the first place. Doctor-Patient confidentiality should encourage you to tell me the truth so I can better help you work out your problems and answer accordingly to your needs. It is in your better interest to tell me the truth.” Ryan watched the world go by outside the window. “And it’s too late for me to get a new patient,” he said. “The semester is halfway over. I won’t have time to write the thesis I need to for my doctoral degree.”

When he saw how uncomfortable Brendon looked, he grimaced and nodded. “I can just start over next semester,” he said, though he was nervous about that. It would mean he’d be put into the workforce in the middle of the education year and he’d be less likely to find work. That, and there’d be an extra semester on his already eight-year long student debt collection. 

“No, it’s fine,” Brendon sighed. “I can talk about stuff. It’ll be okay.”

“I’m really sorry, Brendon,” Ryan whimpered. “I wish there was a way out of this for you. I’m sorry.”

“It’ll be okay,” Brendon repeated, glancing away from the road to smile at Ryan. 

Ryan returned the smile shakily and was silent for the rest of the ride home.

. . .

“What happened, RyRo?” Pete asked after coming home and setting down a large pizza on the table. Ryan hadn’t told Brendon because he didn’t want to relive the story twice. He didn’t want to think about this any more than he’d have to.

“Uh, Pete?” Ryan asked. “Have you been talking to the Department Head? The Psychology?”

Pete paused, then nodded. “Asked her about the guy that tried to fucking rape you, Ryan. Sorry, but I can’t take this sitting down. We can’t just let someone like that walk around the campus with the freedom to do one of the most awful things a human can do.”

Ryan bit his lip. “… I’m being blackmailed, kinda,” he said. “If you, or anyone else, tries to talk to anyone about the professor, all of my degrees and credits are being revoked and I’ll be expelled and forced to start payments on my debts immediately.”

Pete stared at him. “I’m sorry, Ryan,” he choked out. 

“It’s okay,” he mumbled. “Just, please stop. I-I can’t afford to lose this.”

“Okay,” Pete breathed, looking sick. “Okay.”

Ryan nodded, staring down at his hands.

“I’m so sorry, Ryan,” Pete whimpered. “I never meant to do this to you. If I’d known…”

“You didn’t know,” Ryan interrupted gently. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Fuck,” Brendon murmured. “Shit, Ryan… What the fuck is wrong with these people?”

Ryan just shrugged. 

“Why are you even at this school anymore?” he asked. “Ryan, you could transfer to anywhere. Fuck, put your application out there and I’m sure they’d beg for you.”

“I want to stay here,” Ryan said. “I have friends here.” He smiled up at them, a bit nervous that they would deny the sentiment.

Pete smiled sadly and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Family, more like.”

Ryan’s smile grew a bit more hopeful. “Really?’

“Yeah,” he said with a smirk. “Really.”

. . .

“So what happened with Sarah?” Ryan asked. 

Brendon shrugged. “She cried. I felt like shit.”

“I’m sorry, Brendon.”

Brendon shrugged again. “It’s for the best. I mean, I fell out of love with her a while ago. She needs to find someone who can make her a lot happier than I can. Someone who can love her completely and not have dreams about men and preform poorly, if you know what I mean.”

Ryan sighed and nodded. “Well, we can work on that, you know. I-I’m pretty good with what I know. I can help you work develop your sexual preferences.”

“What is there to develop?” he asked curiously.

“You might not be truly gay,” Ryan said. “Sometimes people desire nameless faces. Sometimes they have urges that just need to be fed once before the hunger is gone for good.”

“You think these are just urges?” Brendon asked softly.

Ryan nodded. “I, uh… I know of a thing. A method for sexual therapy from the eighties.”

“What is it?” Brendon asked, sounding tired.

“I-it’s called Sexual Surrogacy,” Ryan answered. “The idea was that you’d be paired with a certain therapist who is open to the method. You, you’d talk about sex and you work through all the sexual issues and you'd basically be building up to the final session where you’d have sex with the therapist and you’d address every issue you have. In theory, you’d have sex with someone to work out the issues. I-I know it’s weird to suggest, so you could totally, maybe, go to a club or something and pick up a guy and then figure it out that way?”

A strange expression came over Brendon’s face.

“I, uh, I’m not sure I’d be comfortable having sex with a complete stranger,” Brendon said, voice heavy with an emotion Ryan couldn’t name. “I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to get it up in that situation either. Maybe we could figure out an alternative way?”

Ryan bit his lip, frowning. “Alternative way to what?”

Brendon shrugged. “I mean, I’ve only ever been with one person my whole life. I don’t know if I’d be able to trust a random person. Maybe I should have the surrogate sex with someone I’m familiar with.”

“Like, like Pete?” Ryan asked, completely lost.

Brendon shook his head. “Pete doesn’t know a lot about what’s wrong,” he said. “Like, the intricacies of it or how to fix things if there are psychological issues. He’s a lawyer, not a therapist. I was thinking it should be with someone who knows the deep reason behind the problems. Someone who knows psychology and stuff.”

“You…” Ryan trailed off, thinking. “You want an actual therapist for this? I-I might be able to find someone, the issue is that this type of therapy was and still is very controversial.”

“I don’t know or trust a random therapist,” Brendon said. “I was thinking, maybe it should be you.”

Ryan felt like the world had been pulled from under his feet. “… W-what?”

“You should do the surrogacy thing with me,” Brendon replied. “I mean, who knows my problems and the way my head works better than you, my actual therapist? Wasn’t that the thought behind the whole idea when it was created? I trust you more than most people. And I know you care about me and my recovery. So why shouldn’t it be you?”

Ryan let out this little whine that he usually made when he couldn’t think past the buzzing in his head that usually started singing when he was shocked beyond coherency. “I have to go,” he blurted out before scrambling off the sofa in Pete’s living room and speed walking to the bathroom. He locked the door and sat on the toilet.

He had no idea of what just happened. 

. . .

Ryan didn’t come out of the bathroom until Pete came home from his class. Well, that was kinda a lie. Ryan had left the bathroom just once to grab his shitty laptop so he could continue writing his thesis and organizing his collected data from the sessions. He had to be careful about not putting in too much detail, otherwise the information would be revoked and nullified on the account of a present bias due to attachment to the patient. 

When Pete came home, he walked past the bathroom to presumably put his stuff away. Ryan was watching for him through a crack in the door and when Pete passed, Ryan grabbed him by the sleeve of his shirt and pulled him into the bathroom, shutting the door behind them both.

“Brendon asked me to have sex with him for his therapy,” Ryan blurted out.

Pete looked livid. “That fucking piece of shit!” he shouted, causing Ryan to flinch back and hit the door in his instinctual need to get away, get out of arm’s reach. Pete instantly calmed, though his expression still looked like fire. “You didn’t agree, did you?”

“I ran away,” Ryan whimpered. “That was probably stupid. I didn’t know what to do. I panicked.”

“Good,” Pete said with a scowl. “Good. Don’t listen to the fucking asshole. He’s a dick and you shouldn’t do anything you don’t want, you got it? Don’t do that shit for him just because you’re his therapist. Don’t do that for anyone you don’t love.”

Ryan bit his lip. “Except I kinda like him,” he mumbled.

It was Pete’s turn to stare in shock. “Really?” he asked after a few long moments of thought. “You like Brendon? Brendon Boyd Urie? The dumbass with the stupid hair and the big butt?”

Ryan nodded wordlessly.

“Oh,” Pete said. “Well, fuck.”

Ryan winced. “Is it bad to like him?”

“No,” Pete replied. “No, not at all. Just, surprising.”

“Surprising?” Ryan repeated.

“Yeah,” Pete sighed. “Look, I still don’t think you should do the sex thing. I mean, it could be fucking with a gray area. And Brendon’s a difficult guy to communicate with, sometimes. I think the sex thing should only be done if it absolutely has to be. But don’t do it for a better grade. It’s your body, okay? You shouldn’t just throw it around.”

“Okay,” Ryan said. “I’ll think about it.”

“Only be with someone you love,” Pete said. “But remember, love can sometimes last an hour. Just, remember to respect yourself through all of it. Brendon will treat you right if you do get with him, I promise you that.”

Ryan smiled a bit and nodded. “Thanks for not getting mad at me for liking him,” he said.

“Why the hell would I get mad?” Pete touched forward and tousled Ryan’s hair. “Come on, let’s get you out of here. Brendon’s sulking in the living room and now I know why.”

Ryan giggled and followed Pete out of the bathroom. Brendon really was sitting on the couch, staring out the window with a perplexed look on his face that had a despondent undertone. Pete walked past him and smacked the back of Brendon’s head. 

“That was extremely inappropriate and you know well,” Pete growled.

Brendon just hung his head in shame and nodded.

“Don’t do it again,” Pete ordered. 

“I won’t,” Brendon promised. 

“Good,” Pete huffed. “Now come on. I’m ordering Chinese and you’re gonna help Ryan by answering any questions he has for his thesis.”

Ryan blinked, then shook his head. “It’s not necess—”

“It is necessary,” Pete interrupted. “It’s his apology.”

Brendon nodded again, looking defeated. “I’m sorry, Ryan,” he mumbled.

Ryan smiled a bit and waved him off. “I’m still gonna help you.”

Brendon slumped in what Ryan assumed was relief. He didn’t know what Brendon thought Ryan would leave or ignore him over something as small as this. A lot worse could have been said or done and Ryan didn’t think what Brendon had suggested was too awful. Looking back, Ryan realized that Brendon was just trying to find ways to help himself get better, faster. 

“I think I have a lot for my thesis already,” Ryan said. “I just need to actually, like, get closure with you. I need to finalize your development.”

“Where are you going after this, Ryan?” Pete asked.

“I’m going south,” Ryan replied readily, having thought about this for a long time. “I’m going to work in LA, in the CDCR. I’ll probably live in the outskirts of LA cause money, but yeah. That’s the plan.”

Pete smirked.

“What?” Ryan asked, curious.

“Brendon’s working in LA, too,” Pete said. “The Children’s Hospital. I’m already guaranteed work at one of the Sanford Jossen law offices. They special in child neglect and abuse.”

“Brendon’s working with children too?” Ryan asked, having just now heard of this.

Brendon nodded. “I, uh, the passion came to me when I first met you, really. I was telling Pete about you. I said something about you and he thought it sounded like something else and then he actually, like, introduced me into the world of abuse and stuff. Plus, I’ve always liked kids, you know? I mean, I don’t like kids in the sense that I don’t want to have any. But they’re sweet, sometimes. Young. I don’t want them to die in hospitals without a smile.”

Ryan smiled gently at him. “That’s real big of you, Brendon.”

Brendon blushed and Pete giggled and Ryan was, once again, confused.

“I don’t get it,” Ryan sighed.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Pete said, resting his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Why don’t you help me get plates for dinner? I need a pair of long, piano fingers.”

“How’d you know I play piano?” Ryan asked.

Brendon groaned and leaned down, resting his head on the counter.

“Is he okay?” Ryan also asked. 

Pete chuckled and pulled Ryan into the kitchen. “Lend me those fingers, Ross. He’ll be fine.”

Ryan watched Brendon for a moment long, just to see if he could observe some answers, before turning back to Pete and offering his help in the kitchen with a smile on his face. It was nice to feel needed by someone, especially by Pete.


	4. Hallelujah with Brendon B. U.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> never make a crucial decision with alcohol in your hand

“We only have one month left,” Brendon sighed. “Jesus. I’m freaking out.”

“Doesn’t Pete have less time?” Ryan asked.

“Pete graduated fall semester,” the other man said. “He’s just sitting in on classes that pique his interest. To watch a boy that has piqued his interest.”  
 Ryan looked up. “A boy?”

“Patrick something,” Brendon hummed. “Patrick S.?”

“I know him,” Ryan said. “Patrick Stump. Really short, always wears a fedora? Cause of his hair. And he’s got good cheekbones, right?”

Brendon gaped at him. “You know the Patrick Stump Pete’s been chasing…”

Ryan shrugged.

“You have to help him,” Brendon gushed. “This is the only guy he’s been too shy to approach. He saw him a month ago, around when you and I moved in. It’s why he’s still going to unnecessary classes. He’s going to the classes Patrick has. Oh my god, you have to talk to Patrick for him. He’ll love you forever.”

“I’m pretty sure Patrick’s asexual,” Ryan said.

Brendon’s face fell. “Oh.”

Ryan winced. “I’ll try, though. Maybe he’ll talk to Pete. That would help, right?”

“Maybe,” Brendon sighed.

“I’ll talk to Patrick,” Ryan insisted, eager to find a way to repay Pete for taking him in. “I’ll talk to Patrick.”

. . .

“Uh, h-hey, Patrick…”

Patrick looked up at Ryan, his expression already annoyed and defensive. “Who’re you?”

“Ryan Ross,” he introduced shakily. He’d found Patrick out in the center garden of campus. He and Patrick had shared an introductory history course during Ryan’s first year in the Psych Doctoral program. Patrick had left a lasting impression on Ryan when standing up to a know-it-all asshole who had been very offensive about Japanese attack on Chinese soil during WWII. Ryan wasn’t sure why that was something he remembered, he just did. “We, uh, we had a class together once.”

“Did we?” Patrick asked, raising a skeptical brow. 

“We did.” Ryan bit his lip, looking around. “Can I sit next to you?”

Patrick paused, then moved his books over. Ryan shuddered in relief and sat beside him. “What do you want, Ross?” Patrick asked with a bored tone, staring back down at the book in his hands. Ryan was surprised to see it was for musical theory.

“What’s your major?” Ryan asked.

Patrick frowned. “Doctor of Musical Arts in Composition,” he said. 

Ryan gaped. “You got into that program?” he gasped. “You must be some kind of genius! N-no one gets into that program unless they’re some sort of wunderkind!”

Patrick just shrugged. “Why are you talking to me?”

Ryan winced. “I-I have a friend…”

“Congats,” Patrick grumbled. “You can form relationships. What does that have to do with me. Because if you’re just wasting my time, I’m going to have to ask you to do that somewhere else. I have a final that I need to be ready for.”

“Pete Wentz,” Ryan blurted out. 

Patrick arched a brow. “The guy who fucked my best friend?”

Oh god, that’s not good. “Uh, maybe?” Ryan squeaked.

“Pete Wentz,” Patrick repeated. “The guy with the bleached hair, studying law, all the tattoos? He walks around shirtless sometimes and plays the bass like he’s actually trying to break the strings.”

“You know him.”

“Of course I know him,” Patrick sighed. “Andy would not stop talking about the sex they had. It was pretty annoying, but even worse now because all he does is compare the sex he had with Wentz to the sex he has now with whoever.”

Ryan grimaced. “That, uh, that does sound pretty bad.”

“It is,” Patrick huffed. “Why are you asking if I know him?”

“He wants to know you,” Ryan replied.

“Why?” Patrick asked, sounding exasperated. 

Ryan shrugged. “Because he does.”

“That’s not very convincing,” Patrick huffed again. 

Ryan sighed and nodded. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I suck at this.”

Patrick was quiet for a moment. “Do you have Wentz’s number?” 

Ryan looked up. “Uh, yeah.”

“Give it to me?” 

Ryan fumbled in his pocket for his flip phone and brought up the number, showing it to Patrick. Patrick pulled out his own phone and Ryan was kinda relieved to see it was also as outdated as Ryan’s. Pete put the number in his phone and stood, collecting his stuff. 

“I’ll text him later,” Patrick said, already leaving. “Seeya.”

Ryan at there for a moment longer before shoving his fist into the air in excitement. 

. . .

“Patrick texted me!” Pete shrieked, running back into the apartment with his phone held above his head. He was jumping and kicking his legs. “Oh my god, he texted me! Yes! I’m gonna take him on a date, a fucking amazing date!” 

“A date?” Brendon repeated. “You’re actually gonna take him on a date before?”

“Before what?” Pete asked, grinning and breathless.

“Before sex.”

Pete blinked, still grinning. “I’m not gonna have sex with him, B. Especially not after the first date.”

Brendon was thrown for a loop. Ryan giggled. “Who are you?” Brendon asked.

“The happiest motherfucker on planet earth!” Pete crowed. “He agreed to a date! I don’t know what you said to him, Ryan, but I fucking love you for it!” He bounded over to Ryan side and placed a large, sloppy kiss on Ryan’s cheek, a gesture that Ryan had realized was a favorite of Pete’s. He liked to show affection in any way he could get away with. “I’m gonna buy you a fucking fruit basket, Ross! Just you wait!”

Brendon rolled his eyes. “Why would he wait for that? And he lives here, Pete. Just show your gratitude with, like, washing the sheets or something. I’m sure Ryan finds that bed absolutely disgusting at this point. Or he would, if he knew what had happened in there.”

“Nothing you can prove,” Pete challenged. 

Ryan laughed and sat back against the sofa, giggling. Brendon swatted uselessly at the back of Pete’s head and Pete began making Kung Fu noises, lifting a leg in the air and waving it around like he found himself to be threatening. Brendon crooked his finger at Pete, daring him to attack. Pete kicked uselessly at Brendon’s knee and ended up stumbling, falling back on his ass.

“I’ve won!” Brendon declared. “The princess is mine!” He strut forward and plopped onto the sofa beside Ryan, wrapping his arms around Ryan’s shoulders. Ryan’s heart skipped a beat, and for a second, it looked like Brendon was going to kiss him. But then Brendon licked a long, slick stripe up Ryan’s cheek. “I have claimed her innocence! She is now deflowered! I rule the land! And I rule this fair maiden’s sassy hips!”

“Sassy hips?” Ryan repeated, giggling.

“The sassiest,” Pete agreed.

“I love your sassy hips,” Brendon hummed. 

“I love them too!” Pete cut in. “Just not like how Brendon does.”

Ryan caught Brendon glaring at Pete.

Pete winked and pranced away.

Ryan just decided it wasn’t his business and settled against Brendon’s chest, soaking in the warmth he supplied and quickly drifting off.

. . .

“Brendon said you were his therapist?”

Ryan stared at the woman in front of him, not sure if he was being addressed, even though he actually was Brendon’s therapist. She was incredibly pretty, with dark hair and blue eyes, fair skin and a curvy figure. She was dressed in pastels with brown leather boots and every part of her appearance looked perfect and picked with a fine tooth comb. 

“Are you Sarah?” he asked.

“So he did talk about me,” she sighed, looking disappointed. “Uh, yeah. I’m Sarah. I was wondering if you could help me? With the breakup.”

“He left you,” Ryan said, having no tact.

She arched a fine, shapely eyebrow. “Yeah, he did. Did you tell him to do it?”

Ryan shook his head, standing from where he’d been sitting on the floor against the wall, working on his thesis. He hoped Brendon’s name wasn’t visible on any of the papers. “I, uh, I didn’t know about the dreams until one of the most recent sessions. I mean, it wasn’t recent. But something happened and the sessions went on hold for a long while.”

“Dreams?” She frowned. “What dreams?”

Ryan winced. “Uh, fuck.”

“Wait, the gay dreams?” Sarah asked. “He told me about those when he broke up with me. Something about having dreams of being with men. Fucking stupid, if you ask me. We totally could have worked through it.”

“He obviously didn’t want you to feel tied to him,” Ryan tried to reason. “I mean, imagine if you had stayed with him and helped him through all of that, stayed awake and talked him through everything and stretched yourself to the end of your rope only to find out he really is gay. You would’ve have put all that time and effort into him for no reason.”

“But it wouldn’t have been without reason,” she said. “It would have been worth it because I love him.”

Ryan didn’t know what to do once she started crying. He was never good with women in general, was barely any good with men. People were starting to look at them and Ryan didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

“I’ll buy you a milkshake,” he said.

His offer must have shocked Sarah so much that she stopped crying. Because she did stop crying once Ryan offered. 

“A milkshake,” he repeated. “I, I’ll buy you one. Please?”

Sarah stared at Ryan for a long moment, then nodded her consent.

. . .

“Rumor has it you went for milkshakes with Sarah,” Brendon said. 

Ryan was still sitting in the parlor shop he’d bought Sarah’s milkshake at. Sarah had left only twenty minutes ago. Ryan wasn’t sure how Brendon knew.

“I passed her,” Brendon sighed. “She told me you were here. Said you talked to her about me, said you helped her work some stuff out?” Brendon smirked sadly and sat down in the chair across from Ryan’s. “Thought you were just my therapist. Better be carefully— I’m a jealous man. And you are definitely someone to be jealous over.”

Ryan blushed faintly. “Uh, so, did you talk to her about your relationship? Maybe picking back up if things go well?”

Brendon shook his head. “I won’t be going back to her.”

Ryan’s face fell. “But you might not actually be gay, Brendon. You might just need to work these things out. You can still have an amazing future with her, with all your dreams and stuff and the happy endings people are usually after.”

“I don’t want that with her,” Brendon said. “I know that for a fact.”

Ryan sighed and rested his head in his hand. “If you’re sure…”

Brendon nodded, clearing his throat. “So, I found someone.”

“Someone?” Ryan repeated.

“A guy,” Brendon elaborated. “Someone I can try out, uh, the thing with.”

“The thing?” Ryan smiled wryly. “You mean sex?”

“Gay sex, yeah,” the other man replied shortly. “Uh, I found someone that’s willing to give it a go with me.”

Ryan bit his lip. “Are you sure they’re safe?”

“Safest I know,” Brendon said. 

Ryan nodded, looking to the faux marble countertop. 

“So, uh, you probably should be careful when coming home tonight,” Brendon said.

Ryan nodded again. 

“Seeya, Ry,” Brendon said softly before leaving.

. . .

Ryan came home late that night to the sounds of loud, wild sex happening in Pete’s room. Ryan was shocked Brendon convinced Pete to hand over his bedroom, even if for a night. Ryan recognized Brendon’s voice and blushed at how pleasured he sounded.

Ryan tiptoed into the kitchen to put away the milkshake he’d gotten for Pete from earlier in the day. It was melted, but he remembered Pete mentioning liking milkshakes double frozen? Or maybe that was about pizza.

As Ryan put the milkshake away, the bedroom door opened and Ryan glanced up to see who was leaving. He knew Brendon was in there. He wondered who’d had been in there with Brendon.

Pete walked out, shirtless, with boxers hanging off his hips.

Ryan’s eyes went wide.

So did Pete’s.

“Uh, hey,” Pete said. “Thought you were asleep.”

Ryan just nodded.

Pete smirked a bit, looking confused. “You were asleep?”

“N-no, no,” Ryan fumbled to say. “I, uh, I was just… I was putting your milkshake away.”

“My milkshake?” Pete strode forward, running a hand through his hair. Ryan noticed how it was sticking out like someone had been tugging at it. “Dude, awesome! I love chocolate, it’s my favorite.” Pete pulled it from the fridge and began to drink it, winking at Ryan. “Thanks, RyRo.”

“Ryan?”

Ryan’s head snapped left, zeroing in on Brendon. He was also shirtless, dressing in black sweatpants. There were bruises around his neck and even a set of teeth, red and bruised on his collarbone. He was flustered and his skin was glowing with a sheen of sweat. Brendon’s hair was brushed back and tangled gracefully. There was something collected in the corner of Brendon’s mouth, something off white and glistening.

“D-did you figure it out?” Ryan choked, hands shaking.

Brendon grinned and he looked absolutely feral. “Fuck yeah, I did,” he breathed, tone dripping with sensual promise.

Ryan squeaked and darted back out of the apartment, walking into the night as quickly as his feet would let him, with absolutely no idea of where he was going or why he felt like he needed to leave; he only knew that he couldn’t be in that apartment tonight. Not with the memory of the sounds Brendon made and who made Brendon sound like that.

. . .

Ryan finally checked his phone at three A.M. that night.

 _‘im sorry ryan,’_ a text from Pete read. _‘i shouldnt have agreed i knew you liked him and i w/ still an ass’_

‘ryan pls come home’

‘ryan were rly worried now pls’

‘jesus ryan just let us know youre not dead pls’

‘ryan god were begging you’

‘ryan fuck come home please’

Those were all from Pete. Only one came from Brendon.

_‘i think im gay ryan’_

Ryan actually started laughing when he read that, because of course Brendon would fall for someone like Pete. Everyone fell for Pete. Everyone wanted the handsome, charismatic, strong, confident lawyer. Everyone wanted Pete. No one wanted Ryan.

Ryan noticed that his laughing had turned into tears without him even knowing. 

. . .

He came home at 5 AM and Pete wasn’t there.

“He went looking for you,” Brendon mumbled from where he sat on the couch, watching cartoons. “He almost had a panic attack, Ryan. You can’t just leave and not expect people to get upset and even sick with worry.”

“I’m sorry,” Ryan whimpered. “I didn’t know what to do. You said you didn't want Pete, so, uh, were you just trying to cover up something else?”

Brendon got up and turned to face Ryan with a scowl marring his beautiful face. “That’s not how this works, Ryan,” he spat, rounding the couch and going to the kitchen, opening the fridge angrily. It looked a little ridiculous and Ryan wanted to laugh even though he knew he definitely shouldn’t. “You don’t get to just run away from your problems. You gotta face them like a fucking adult, get it?”

“I’m sorry,” Ryan murmured.

“Jesus,” Brendon huffed, pulling out a bottled smoothie. “Fuck, Ryan, you have no idea what that did to us. How scared Pete was. How scared I was.”

“I didn’t think it mattered that much…”

“You got raped two weeks ago, Ryan!” Brendon cried out, looking to Ryan with desperation in his eyes. “You were violated a while ago! You get mugged! You get abused! You have every horrible thing that can happen to a human being happen to you! You’re the kicking bag of this whole fucked up world and you don’t even try and fight it! You just let it happen! It’s like you don’t even care about yourself!”

Ryan winced. “Who said I ever did?” he murmured, honest and defeated.

Brendon’s face fell, the fight in his eyes dying. “Why are you like this, Ryan?” he whimpered. “Why did they do this to you?”

Ryan shrugged, not sure what Brendon was getting at.

“Why are you so fucking dead set on believing that no one cares about you?” he asked. “Why do you think we’ll turn our backs on you in seconds? We’re not monsters, Ryan. We’re your friends. And we care about you more than anything.”

Ryan nodded, head hung. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I know I’m no good.”

“No, stop it,” Brendon hissed, growing hostile again. “You fucking stop that right now, Ross. You are the furthest fucking thing from no good. You are the opposite of no good. You are the only good thing that can happen out here! You’re the only truly good thing left in my life and I’ll be damned before I let you go around and fucking believe that you’re not worth fucking everything to me!”

Ryan blushed faintly. “I mean that to you?” he murmured.

Fear flashed over Brendon’s expression. “Just don’t do that again,” he choked out, before turning around and walking briskly into the bathroom, shutting the door with the click of a lock. Ryan wasn’t sure what he could be doing until Ryan heard the shower start. He grimaced and wandered into the bedroom, setting his phone up to charge and texting Pete a quick message to say he was home safe. He lied down on the bed, not even bothering to get changed, shutting his eyes and relaxing and hoping he’d get in an hour or two before work. 

. . .

He woke up to a cup of coffee under his nose and a plate with two donuts on the nightstand. Ryan groaned and rolled onto his back, looking up to see Dallon above him.

“Hey,” Dallon greeted in monotone. “Pete had to go to one of his bullshit classes that mean jack shit and are a total waste of his time, in my humble opinion. He wanted me to make sure you had a good breakfast and shit.”

Ryan looked to the donuts again and saw the words, “I’m sorry,” spelled out meticulously with sprinkles on top of chocolate icing. “That’s kinda amazing,” Ryan mumbled, half asleep.

“We called you in sick for work today,” Dallon said. “Your boss was cool with it. She wants you to get better and shit. You’re getting paid for this time off, but I’m pretty sure that won’t be an option for much longer. She seems like a serious lady.”

Ryan nodded. “She is.”

Dallon handed Ryan the coffee. “Come on, kiddo,” he prodded. “Let’s get you ready for the day.”

Ryan groaned as he sat up. “Why?”

“Cause we’re going to a party.”

Ryan arched a brow. “Where?”

“Half Moon Bay,” Dallon replied, grinning. “It’s a state beach, but this kid in the Astrophysics department? His dad is fucking loaded or something and he rented off the part of the beach thats usually for weddings at the Ritz. It’s gonna be a huge party, lots of people, gorgeous sunset and we’ll have bonfires everywhere and people just having fun and playing music and enjoying the ocean. And you’re coming with.”

Ryan sighed and nodded, seeing no point in arguing. He was sure Pete or Brendon would help him out if things became too stressful. Plus, a beach was long. Ryan could just walk away if he needed to.

“You’re coming?” Dallon asked, smiling.

“Yeah,” Ryan replied. “Uh, I don’t have much to wear though.”

“Pete bought you something.”

Ryan grimaced. “What am I, charity?”

“Not at all,” Dallon said, grinning now. “He wants to dress you up.”

Ryan’s grimace deepened. “I’d prefer to be charity.”

Dallon snickered and stood tall, motioning Ryan up. “I’m gonna give you a haircut,” he said. “Pete wants you in eyeliner and stuff, says you should look as pretty to everyone else as you do to Brendon and him.”

“They think I’m pretty?” Ryan asked skeptically.

Dallon just giggled and pulled Ryan into the bathroom with a pair of kitchen scissors and one of the donuts. He began cutting away and Ryan watched Dallon in his reflection, surprised by how good he was at this.

“I cut everyone’s hair,” Dallon said. “Pete’s, Brendon’s, Breezy’s. I cut all of our friends’ hair.”

“You’re really good at it,” Ryan observed.

“You flatter me,” Dallon hummed. Ryan watched as his long, curly hair fell away to shorter lengths. It revealed Ryan’s angular face and his button noise, the curve of his lips and his long lashes that made Ryan ill to look at.

“I’ve always hated my face,” he mumbled. “My father would say that I was the daughter he never wanted. He said I was too pretty to be anything good out there. I won’t be anything good.” He choked on a sound of pain that he’d intended to be laughter. “I’m worth nothing…”

“Stop it,” Dallon said firmly. “Brendon told me about your inability to love yourself. And I get it. You have a really good reason to have such a fucked up head. Just know that Brendon and Pete and Breezy and I will go to our graves saying you mean everything.” He smiled at Ryan’s reflection. “We like you, kid. We like you a lot. So believe us when we say that while you don’t think you’re worth anything, you’re really worth a lot. To us. Your new family.” He winked at Ryan. “Your real family.”

Ryan grinned, expression hopeful. “I like my… my family.”

Dallon smirked. “And we like you.”

When Dallon was done, Ryan looked in his reflection. Dallon had painstakingly straightened Ryan’s hair and styled the back up into a sort of faux-hawk that resembled a bird. Ryan kinda liked it. And Dallon had handed Ryan an eyeliner stick and told him to have fun. Ryan had stuck with figuring out how to outline his eyes before deciding he wanted to have some fun, for once. 

Being around someone as bright and colorful as Brendon and someone as confident and cool as Pete made Ryan feel a bit more comfortable. If he did offend someone with his face, Ryan knew he’d have someone at his back that he knew he could trust. 

Ryan felt like flying.

So he began to draw on his face, outlines of birds flying from the corners of his eyes, then stripes down his other eye like the rays of a sunset. He curled the rays like burlesque swirls and blossoming pattens down his cheek. When he pulled away and looked at his reflection, Ryan was satisfied. And the eyeliner stick was nearly empty.

When Ryan got out of the bathroom, there was a set of clothes on the bed. Black skinny jeans that Ryan was sure were too small, even for him, a bright pink leather belt and tight black t-shirt with a v-neck and the simplest design of a pair of skeletal wings in white just above where Ryan’s heart would be beneath it. Ryan sighed and worked off his own loose-fitting clothes to put on what Pete had gotten him. 

He glanced to the side after sliding the pant up his skinny hips much more easily than he’d thought he would and saw the leather jacket. Ryan lifted it up and turned it around. It had the name, “LUCIFER,” coming out from a rainbow. Ryan giggled and pulled it on after the t-shirt.

“Holy shit,” came a voice from the door.

Ryan whirled around to see who it was a blushed when he saw Pete. “Thank you,” he said. “For the clothes. I-I like them.”

“You look fucking good in them,” Pete actually moaned. He walked past Ryan and looked at him from the back. “Damn, Ross,” he murmured. “For a skinny guy, you have a full ass. That’s a nice butt, seriously. Can I slap it? Just once.”

Ryan blushed and scrambled away. 

“Oh, phooey,” Pete sighed. “I really wanted to touch your butt.”

Ryan just ducked his head.

Pete sighed. “I’m sorry, Ryan. For agreeing to Brendon. I knew you liked him and I did it anyways. It was wrong of me. I, I did a horribly unfair thing. And I flaunted it in front of you, didn’t expect you to get mad. It was cruel of me, Ryan. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Ryan mumbled. “Brendon, Brendon is amazing. So are you. It’s only natural two amazing people would come together to do even more amazing things.”

“What?”

Ryan looked back up at Pete when he heard the alarm in his voice.

“Brendon and I aren’t a thing, Ryan,” Pete said. “That was just a night of great sex. For him to figure out what he really wants. And yeah, it was fun, but I wasn’t what he wanted.”

“He, he texted me,” Ryan fumbled to say. “Said he thought he was gay. I-I thought he was talking about what he’d done with you.”

“I wasn’t what he wanted, Ryan,” Pete sighed. “That doesn’t mean he didn’t find what he was looking for.”

Ryan bit his lip. “I don’t know what that means,” he confessed.

“You will soon,” Pete said, offering him a smile. “Come on. You’re all dressed up and you’re in for an amazing night. And I’m gonna woe a certain musical genius with my prowess and dismal knowledge of anything to do with classical music.”

“You’re in luck,” Ryan said. “Patrick’s into jazz and funk.”

Pete’s mouth fell open in an actual moan. “I’m in love.”

Ryan giggled and shooed Pete out of the room, ready to get the night over with. At least he knew Brendon was in love with Pete.

. . .

“The sound of a neck snapping travels faster than any word of love,” Ryan sighed as he looked down at the beach. There were more than a hundred people out there, all laughing and playing and drinking, some even lighting firecrackers and sparklers. It looked dangerous and not nearly as fun as he’d been lead to believe.

“What was that?” Pete asked with a frown.

Ryan just shrugged. “Something I wrote,” he mumbled.

Pete shrugged too. “Brendon’s already down there. You should find him. I think he’ll really appreciate the new look. And your hair. Hell, you’re hot enough to make a lot of new friends tonight.”

“I don’t want to make friends,” Ryan said softly. “Just wanna see him.”

Pete paused. “… You sure it’s just a crush?”

Ryan smiled sadly. Then he gestured behind Pete. “Patrick’s waiting.”

Pete whirled around, eyes alight with excitement and eagerness. “Pattycakes!” he exclaimed, leaving Ryan for the prodigy. “I’m gonna make this the best night your fucking life! Just you wait, my perfect man you!”

Ryan sighed and went back to staring at the beach. Maybe he’d be able to spot Brendon from up here.

. . .

Ryan didn’t find Brendon until two hours after sunset.

He’d spent the whole time wandering the beach, alone and uncomfortable. His clothes weren’t his own and he didn’t feel like himself. Women were throwing themselves at him, talking about jealous boyfriends and desires to fuck. He’d been offered three different types of drugs, but the most frequently offered was ecstasy. Ryan avoided the groups who offered. He was scared of what they could do under the influence.

Then, Ryan heard a familiar, boisterous voice practically bellowing out a song. He looked to one of the many fire pits and approached it cautiously. When he got to the edge, he saw Brendon, singing along to an acoustic guitar that was being played with very little skill by a man obvious high on drugs and brought down by alcohol.

“Ryan!” Brendon cried out, opening his arms, stumbling and spilling some of his beer. Ryan could tell that he was very, very drunk. “Oh my god, Ryan! You, you gotta play something! Pete said you can play, I think, you gotta play!”

Ryan couldn’t get out a protest fast enough. Brendon was like lightning, taking the guitar from the drunk guy and handing it to Ryan with giggles of excitement, clapping his hands and bouncing on the balls of his bare feet. “Please play?” Brendon pleaded, eyes wide and glistening like a child’s. Ryan’s heart skipped a beat and he agreed with a short nod of his head.

“Come sit, come sit, come sit!” Brendon gushed, pulling Ryan into the middle of the pit, then back to the edge where he’d been. Everyone was staring at Ryan and only half of them were inebriated beyond basic motor functions. Ryan’s hands shook with nervousness.

“Play us something!” Brendon gushed. “One of your things! Play!”

“Uh, I-I don’t know what you mean,” Ryan said shakily.

“Just play!” Brendon prodded.

Ryan bit his lip before looking down at the guitar. He took in a shaky breath and convinced himself that no one would remember this tomorrow, especially Brendon. He prayed no one would remember. But he was also tired of being a blank wall of learned helplessness and abandonment issues. He wanted to be somebody, if only for a few minutes. So he strummed the basic cords he had down for the words he’d written long ago, as a kid, and began to sing with a voice that trembled with anxiety.

_“Th-the I.V. and your hospital bed,_  
This was no accident,  
This was a therapeutic chain of events.” 

Brendon perked up, yet calmed at the same time, sitting in front of Ryan on the sand. Ryan focused on Brendon and the way the fire behind him created a halo of gentle reds and yellows, shadows dancing across Brendon’s skin. Ryan’s heart clenched in his chest and he kept playing, wanting to have Brendon’s attention on him always, no matter how selfish that desire was.

_“This is the scent of dead skin on a linoleum floor.  
This is the scent of quarantine wings in a hospital._

_The anesthetic never set in and I'm wondering where the apathy and urgency is that I thought I phoned in._

_You're a regular decorated emergency._  
The bruises and contusions will remind me what you did when you wake.  
You've earned a place atop the ICU's hall of fame,  
the camera caught you causing a commotion on the gurney again.” 

Brendon’s expression became more and more sobering, like he was understanding the words Ryan sang. Ryan saw movement in his peripherals and glanced over for the shortest of seconds to see Pete standing with Patrick Stump beside him and Dallon just behind. He’d wondered where they’d all gone. Ryan swallowed heavily, becoming even more nervous from his audience. But Brendon began scoot closer to Ryan through the sand, staring up at Ryan like he was something ethereal and beautiful. It made Ryan feel like, for a moment, he was the star that Brendon wanted.

_”It's not so pleasant,_  
And it's not so conventional.  
It sure as hell ain't normal,  
But we deal, we deal 

_Can't take the kid from the fight,  
take the fight from the kid_

_Sit back, sit back, relax, relapse.  
You can take the kid out of the fight.”_

Brendon was almost in Ryan’s lap, and he probably would be if it weren’t for the guitar in Ryan’s hands.

_”The I.V. and your hospital bed_  
This was no accident  
This was a therapeutic ch—” 

Ryan was cut off by Brendon tearing the guitar from Ryan’s hands, tossing it into the sand, and kissing Ryan like he was dying.

Ryan gasped against Brendon’s lips, hands shooting out and hovering at Brendon’s sides, not sure if he was allowed to touch or anything. He felt like Brendon was trying to devour the air in Ryan’s lungs and Ryan shuddered, despite the heat of the fire and Brendon’s body. He tried to return the kiss, tried to meet Brendon’s ravenous tongue with his own unskilled tongue, but Brendon was suddenly torn from Ryan’s lap. 

Ryan opened his eyes and looked down to see Brendon lying in the sand, blinking up at the stars like he didn’t know where he was. Pete was standing above Brendon, bristling with anger.

“You can’t just fucking kiss him!” Pete was shouting. “You can’t force him like that, jesus fuck! You’re just a fucking horrible as that god damn monster, you fucking fucked up piece of shit!” He kicked sand at Brendon and then strode to Ryan, pulling Ryan to his feet with a bruising grip around his upper arm. Ryan whimpered under his breath, only barely registering the pain over the roaring in his ears and the memory of Brendon’s lips against his.

Then Pete twisted his grip and Ryan cried out in pain, knowing there would be a horrible bruise tomorrow. Pete dropped Ryan to the sand and stared down at Ryan, eyes wide with shock. Pete looked down at his hand, then back to Ryan, and whispered, “did I do that?”

Dallon was at Ryan’s side in a flash, lifting him again, but with much more care than Pete had given. “C’mon, Ry,” he murmured. Ryan could smell alcohol on his breath, but he wasn’t acting like he was horrible impaired. He started walking as quickly as someone could walk without actually running. “Breezy is coming to pick me up anyways,” he said. “You’re coming with, okay? Don’t mean to boss you around, but Pete’s going to be a mess. I’m going to leave you with Breezy.”

Ryan stumbled to keep up with Dallon, still without a clue as to what was going on. “Brendon…”

“Brendon’s okay,” Dallon said in a rush, pulling Ryan up the path that lead to the parking lot of the Ritz. “He’ll be okay. He’ll apologize tomorrow and he’ll never do it again, I promise, he will never, ever touch you without your permission again.”

Ryan tugged his hand out of Dallon’s grip and choked out, “but I w-want him to.”

Dallon stopped in his tracks, just looking at Ryan like he could see every secret Ryan’s ever had, spilling out with the tears that were beginning to track down Ryan’s cheeks.

“I want him to,” Ryan repeated in a voice that shook. “I want Brendon to touch me. And kiss me. And hold me. I-I want that with him and I don’t know why or how but it’s what I want and I don’t know why he just kissed me.” Ryan began to tug at his hair, a nervous habit, messing up all the work Dallon had done to make Ryan look as okay as he could. “I don’t know why he kissed me, Dallon,” he whimpered. “Does, does he know? That I like him? O-or whatever? Does he know and was he just using that? Does he actually want something? Does he want a relationship or a one night stand? I-I don’t know, Dallon, and I’m fucking scared!”

“I’m sorry,” was all Dallon could get out.

Ryan’s breath hitched as he fought to stop crying, hiding his face in his hands. Wiped his eyes, sniffling, staring at the ground so Dallon wouldn’t see the mess Ryan made of the eyeliner. “Sorry for ruining the hair,” he whimpered. “I-it looked really good.”

“It’s just hair, Ryan,” Dallon sighed. “Come on. Let’s get you back to my place. Breezy wants a friend to sit with her in PJs and watch Disney movies. And eat cake with her, too, a whole cake, but don’t let her know that I know she does that.”

Ryan just nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Dallon reassured him. “We’ll help you figure out Brendon, okay? I’ll talk to him. Maybe he wants what you want, you know?”

Ryan just shrugged. “I wanna go.”

“Okay,” Dallon said, wrapping an arm around Ryan’s shoulders. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one left


	5. Believe with Mumford and Sons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy endings for happy people

Dallon and Breezy were making out on the couch while Ryan sat on the floor, eating a piece of cheese cake, dressed in PJs too big for him because Dallon had nice hips and wide shoulders and Ryan was just scrawny. He literally heard the moment Dallon put his hand up Breezy’s shirt to grab her breast. Ryan just stared at the TV and tried to get more invested in Finding Nemo than he ever had before. He remembered a cheesy line he saw online once— you’re my nemo. If you get lost in the great big ocean, I’ll find you. 

Ryan wondered if anyone would try to find him in the ocean.

He doubted it.

. . .

Ryan fell asleep sitting up on the floor.

He woke when there was a knock at the door.

Ryan squinted at the time that was on the DVD player underneath the TV and saw that it was 2 AM. He glanced back and saw that Breezy was topless and sleeping on top of an equally topless Dallon. Neither of them stirred. 

Ryan stood on shaky legs and had to hold his pajama pants up. They hung off his hips like loose cloth. He eventually had to let go of the waist band and grimaced as he looked down at his body. The v-shape of his hips wasn’t covered and the pajamas were only being held up by the curve of, well, Ryan’s dick, essentially. The t-shirt Dallon and given him was probably actually Breezy’s and clung to Ryan’s skinny torso and rode up above his hips. Ryan couldn’t tug it down. He felt horribly exposed.

Whoever it was knocked on the door again. 

“Coming,” Ryan called out, shuffling to the door. He gave up on trying to pull his pants up his hips. He hoped whoever it was didn’t mind. Ryan pulled the door open and winced at the cold air that hit him, body reacting naturally, gooseflesh rising along his arms. 

Pete stared at Ryan’s exposed strip of skin and his hips like he hadn’t seen anything any more foreign. Ryan shuddered against the cold wind. “Pete?” he said, wanting to catch his attention. He wanted to close the door with Pete inside so he wouldn’t be so cold. “Are you okay? W-was Patrick having fun?”

“Uh, hey, Ry,” Pete said, dragging his eyes away from the skin to meet Ryan’s eyes. “You know you’ve got a huge dick, right?” Ryan blushed and shuffled back. Pete followed him inside, shutting the door. He smirked when he saw Breezy and Dallon. “How cute,” he hummed. “Bet they had a lot of fun, right? Why the hell would they do that to you? Didn’t they have you over for movies? Sorry if they scarred you, Ry. They’re more used to being around me and B, we don’t really care what they get up to as long as nothing gets on us.”

Ryan grimaced. “That’s kinda gross. But good, I guess. An open relationship among friends strengths and lengthens the relationship.”

Pete chuckles and shook his head. “You’re so eager to defend us and the lives we lead,” he sighed. “I love that about you, you know. I love how smart you are and I love how good you are at making people who don’t understand, understand. And—”

Pete cut himself off, staring at Ryan’s arm. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in a tremulous tone.

Ryan glanced down and saw the bruise. It was an angry dark color in the streetlamp light and Ryan became aware of how it throbbed. He winced and tried to pull the sleeve down to hide the bruise, but it didn’t work. 

“I’m so sorry, Ryan,” he choked out. “Fuck, I-I never, ever meant to hurt you. I can’t believe I…”

Pete trailed of, but not in time for Ryan to miss the pain in his voice. “It’s okay,” Ryan reassured him, reaching out to place a gentle hand on Pete’s shoulder. “I’m okay,” he said. “I’ve had much worse from much more horrible people who actually wanted to hurt me. You didn’t. You didn’t want to hurt me.”

“I didn’t,” Pete agreed, nodding and blinking away tears. “I’m so sorry, Ryan.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Ryan hummed, even managing a small smile. “You never meant to hurt me. So I hold nothing against you. It was an accident, pure and simple.”

“It was,” Pete agreed again, nodding even more. “An accident. I’ll never do it again.”

“Okay,” Ryan said softly. “Why don’t you take me home? I’m worried about Brendon.”

“Fuck, Brendon,” Pete groaned. “I kicked fucking sand at him, I almost clocked him, jesus. I just, he was kissing you and I saw red, you know? Brendon, he’s not, like, together. He doesn’t know what he wants yet. Well, no, that’s not true. He knows what he wants. I’m just worried that he doesn’t know how to keep it. He’s only ever been with Sarah. That’s it.”

Ryan frowned. “What does he want?”

Pete looked at Ryan like he should already know. “I don’t have the right to say,” he mumbled. “Come on. I’ll wake Breezy and Dallon up while you get dressed again. You don’t want to go outside dressed as scarcely as that, right?” He grinned and walked past Ryan to the couch. “I’ll take you home.”

. . .

Ryan went straight to Pete’s bed, dropping onto the mattress, intending to sleep. Then Patrick came in from the bathroom, only a towel around his waist.

“Uh, Ross?”

Ryan looked up, then groaned. “Why is everyone having sex?”

Patrick blushed and narrowed his eyes before grabbing his clothes and heading back to the bathroom. Ryan winced when the door slammed shut. 

Pete came in, looking around the room with wide eyes, searching.

“He’s in the bathroom,” Ryan groaned. “I made him mad. Sorry. I-I didn’t know he was here.”

“My fault,” Pete said. “Should’ve warned you.”

“You slept with him?” Ryan asked. “Thought you were gonna wait.”

Pete blushed and sat at the edge of the bed. “I, uh. I didn’t initiate.”

Ryan grinned a bit. “Pete Wentz, the wooer being wooed. That’s cute.”

Pete rolled his eyes and smacked Ryan’s foot, hiding his grin. “I’m gonna ask him to, like, be my boyfriend. With a cake. Do you think he likes cake? I’m sure everyone likes cake, right? I mean, who doesn’t like cake.”

Ryan shrugged. “I’m sure he likes cake. But what about roses? Rose petals?”

Pete frowned, flopping onto the bed beside Ryan, thinking. 

“Or you could, you know, just ask him,” Ryan suggested.

“Does that work?” Pete asked.

Ryan shrugged again. “Why wouldn’t it?”

“I’ve never actually tried that before,” Pete murmured. 

Patrick came out of the bathroom dressed in blue jeans and a Michael Jackson shirt.

“Hey, Pat,” Pete said. “Wanna be my boyfriend?”

Patrick arched a brow. “Sure.”

Pete sat up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said. “You’re a cool guy. You have good taste in music. And you’re not the idiot some people say you are.”

Pete grinned wide. “I have a prodigy boyfriend with an amazing personality and a smoking hot body! I’m the fucking luckiest guy in the fucking world and no one can take this from me! Fucking no one! Cause my boyfriend is this best!”

Ryan giggled when he saw Patrick was blushing past the annoyed expression that was so obviously fake.

“I’m gonna head home, Pete,” Patrick sighed. “I have a choral literature course early Monday morning and I kinda need need to be not so fucking hungover for it.”

Pete pulled on a massive pout. “Can’t you do that here?”

Patrick shrugged. “Do you have a humidifier and tub? And cucumber sandwiches?”

“I can if it means you’ll stay,” Pete said eagerly.

Patrick sighed and nodded. “I’ll just grab shit from my place and come back. Is that okay?”

“Can I come with?” Pete asked, bouncing onto his feet.

“You sure you wanna leave Ryan alone with Brendon after last night?”

Pete’s expression shuttered closed. “Fuck.”

“I-I’m fine,” Ryan said quickly. “Pete can go, it’ll be okay. I mean, it’s not like Brendon did anything bad to begin with.”

“Making you kiss him is pretty bad,” Pete said, sounding oddly cold. 

Ryan whimpered. “I-I told you I wanted it…”

“You don’t know what you want,” Pete snapped. Then his face fell and he hung his head in his hands. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Ryan. I don’t know why I said that. I was wrong, fucking wrong. You do whatever you want, jesus fuck. I’m awful.”

Ryan winced and put a hand on Pete’s front. “It’s okay,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for me being a dick,” Pete groaned. He reached out and tousled Ryan’s hair in a fond gesture. “Do what you want with Brendon. I know he’ll think twice before actually trying something that he knows he shouldn’t. I’m sure he didn’t mean to do that to you last night. Fuck, I was probably overreacting anyways. It was only a kiss, right? It was only a kiss.”

Ryan blushed and shrugged. 

“Did you like it?” Pete asked. “That’s the only way I can feel good about this.”

“I-I liked it,” Ryan confessed shakily.

Pete nodded. “Then I wish you the best. Don’t let him make you do anything you don’t want. Cause that’s not love and that’s not right.”

Ryan smiled a bit and nodded. “I trust him.”

Pete nodded. “I’ll just go with Pattycakes real quick, maybe make out on his bed. Have awesome sex in the shower, the living room, the car, yeah, awesome sex everywhere, you know? Cause Patrick is fucking sex on legs and I cannot be expected to keep my hands off of him.”

Patrick rolled his eyes again and Ryan giggled.

“I’ll be back soon, RyRo,” Pete said, ducking his head to kiss Ryan’s cheek before was out of the bedroom and out the door with Patrick close behind.

Ryan just lied back on the bed and fell asleep.

. . .

Ryan woke up when Brendon gently shook him awake. Ryan shot up, looking to Brendon with wide eyes, excited. He was ready to tell Brendon everything, he was ready to maybe try and create something with Brendon, his first real something in years. He was so excited to tell Brendon that he wanted him.

Brendon’s expression was tight and his eyes were dull.

Ryan’s immediately wilted, sitting back on the bed.

“I’m moving out,” Brendon said in a gruff voice, leaving no room for argument. “Tell Pete when he gets back.”

Then Brendon turned around and left the room.

Ryan watched him go and forgot how to breathe.

. . .

“Ryan?” Pete called out as Ryan heard him enter the completely dark and silent apartment. “Hey, you in here?”

Ryan sat on the couch, staring out the window. He didn’t have the heart to respond.

“Ryan?” Pete said as he turned on the lights. “Why are you sitting there? Where’s Brendon?”

“Brendon moved out,” Ryan whimpered.

Pete rounded the couch and sat on the floor in front of Ryan. He didn’t speak for a moment. “… Did he move out before or after you told him you like him?”

“I didn’t get to tell him.”

Pete sighed and nodded. “Did he say why he was leaving?”

Ryan shook his head, arms around his body as he hugged himself.

“It wasn’t cause of you, Ry,” Pete murmured. “It couldn’t have been.”

“It could’ve,” he whimpered.

“No, it couldn’t have,” Pete denied firmly. “Brendon’s not that type of guy, Ryan. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t leave here because he dislikes someone. Brendon would rather fight them tooth and nail and be there to annoy the shit out of that person. A-and I don’t think he left because of what he did. Maybe, maybe he just needs to move on. From Sarah.”

“And he has to leave a f-friend behind to do so?” Ryan shook his head, staring at his hands. “Brendon’s not that type of person. I know that much. He never showed signs of ready abandonment of people in his life.”

Pete winced. “Uh, yeah, fuck. Forgot you were so good with people.” He sighed and ducked his head. “Look, I’ll talk to him, okay? I’ll try and knock some sense into him. Sometimes, Brendon makes one wrong move and then acts like he’s a poison and has to be a martyr to save others from his mistakes. It’s fucking dumb and really annoying, and it’s just something we have to deal with when it comes to Brendon.”

“Not deal with,” Ryan mumbled. “That makes it sound like you resent him for those qualities. You don’t resent him, do you?”

Pete smiled sadly and shook his head. “Brendon’s my best friend,” he said. “I could never resent him. I just sometimes wish he wasn’t so selfishly self-destructive. He does these pointless things that just hurt everyone around him in this weird desire to save us from him.”

Ryan matched the sad smile. “It’s common among persons with an inability to understand their worth among their friends,” he sighed. “I mean, he knows you guys like him, but he thinks he can just as easily drive you away with his less-desirable traits. He thinks you affection for him only extends as far as his worth that he’s earned for himself with acting on favors and repaying metaphysical debts.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, leaning his head against the cushions of the sofa. “I’m gonna call Dallon over. Maybe he can make us feel better.”

Ryan grimaced. “Doubtful,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry, Ry,” Pete whimpered. “You don’t deserve this. Jesus, you barely even know how to want someone, you know? You’ve only ever been cheated on. Been such a recluse, no offense. And just, you finally feel something for someone else and they turn their back because the’ve got delusions of grandeur and shit.”

Ryan shrugged. “I kinda just want him to be happy.”

“He’d be fucking overjoyed if he were with you,” Pete sighed. “Look, we’ll talk some sense into him. This is just a dumb and impulsive decision. It happens.”

“If you say so,” Ryan murmured, curling up into an even smaller ball on the couch. He felt something touch the back of his head, so he looked up and saw a cupcake held in front of him, over his shoulder. Ryan craned his neck and saw Patrick wearing a tight expression, like he was embarrassed. 

“Patrick likes to bake at two in the morning when he can’t sleep,” Pete said with a wide grin. “He’s really good at it.”

Ryan took the cupcake with a tiny smile, holding it delicately in his hands. It was a vanilla cupcake with blue frosting and Ryan kinda really like it and what the gesture could mean. His hands were trembling so it was kinda hard to focus on the extreme details, but Ryan knew it was pretty and he liked vanilla, so this was pretty awesome. He also assumed Patrick found it hard to be friendly, so he gladly accepted the cupcake with the most genuine smile he could muster and a word of thanks.

“Don’t mention it,” Patrick mumbled, looking away with a faint flush to his cheeks from embarrassment. 

Pete giggled and bounced to his feet, rounding the couch. Ryan heard the wet sound of a kiss and couldn’t stop himself from turing around and looking. He’d only known Pete to be loose and free and down for anything with anyone. Now he was with one boy with this crinkle to his eyes when he smiled and Ryan just wondered if Pete had been so ready for anyone because he was desperately looking for that single someone.

Ryan liked to think, even if it was too early to hope, that was Patrick was that someone.

“Dallon actually won’t be over,” Pete said, and Ryan realized that he’d spaced out rather badly. He hoped he hadn’t been staring at Pete and Patrick kissing. That could be awkward. “He’s gonna talk to Brendon for me. Just as well, really, cause my temper is shit. I’d probably end up punching him in the dick.”

Ryan giggled a bit, settling into the couch with a little more comfort after Pete’s brazen humor and the cupcake. He nibbled at the edge, then realized it tasted fucking amazing, and began to eat it with a weird hunger he couldn’t explain, even if he actually could. He didn’t get the extra money to buy sweets all that often. This pastry was a delicacy and he was going to savor the fuck out of it, dipping his tongue into the icing with a pleased moan.

Pete snickered and nudged Ryan’s head form behind the couch. “What did I tell you about that sexy moan? You could end wars and start religions, sounding like that, Ross. Symphonies shall be written for you and that moan. Symphonies and pornos.”

Ryan blushed and shrugged. “It’s not that good.”

“I think it is,” Pete pouted. “I’ll bet Patrick does, too. Patrick, doesn’t Ryan have a sexy moan?”

Ryan couldn’t see Patrick. He just heard Pete scoff.

“Patrick’s just got super high standards because he’s heard me, Ry,” Pete said. “You’re sexy.”

Ryan just shrugged and kept eating the last of the cupcake, disappointed when it was gone.

Patrick set down a tinfoil plate in Ryan’s lap. Ryan pulled back the tinfoil to see six more, pristine cupcakes. They had writing across their tops, reading, “thanks for letting us have sex in the bed you sleep in,” written in tiny, meticulous lettering.

“Pete told me what to write,” Patrick said.

“I can tell,” Ryan giggled. “Pete’s got a way with words.”

“You have no idea,” Patrick sighed.

“C’mon, Ryan!” Pete cried out. “Come to the bed so we can cuddle the fuck out of you and have a Quentin Tarantino marathon!”

“Who?” Ryan asked.

Pete just wailed at the ceiling before going to Ryan and struggling to pick Ryan up, grunting with the effort and then succeeding, carrying Ryan to the bedroom. He deposited Ryan onto the bed and started pulling the blankets over Ryan, then going back for Patrick and dragging him into the bedroom. 

“We’re gonna educate the shit out of Ryan,” Pete gushed, grabbing the Playstation controller he had for the TV in his room that was on the wifi. “He doesn’t know Tarantino, such a travesty! Please, just tell me you have, at the very least, seen Pulp Fiction.”

Ryan winced and shrugged. 

“Oh my god,” Pete groaned. “Okay. Be ready to stay up way past your bedtime, babies. We gotta right some cinematographic wrongs.”

“I feel sorry for you, Ryan,” Patrick deadpanned. Ryan giggled and shrugged again, happily eating his third cupcake. He didn’t mind watching movies with someone he considered his best friend. And the pastries were a huge plus, he had a secret sweet-tooth.

“I don’t mind,” Ryan said softly with a smile. “Makes me feel like I belong.”

An expression came over Patrick’s face that Ryan, nor Pete, probably, could name.

“Pete tells me that you belong,” Patrick finally said. 

Pete grinned and winked at Ryan. “He’s right,” he hummed. “RyRo belongs with his PeterPanda and Pattycakes.”

“I’m included in this now?” Patrick asked.

“You’ve always been,” Pete said. “I just didn’t know it yet.”

Patrick blushed and Ryan giggled again. Pete pulled on some movie with an eighties opening decoration and loud music, jumped onto the bed to nestle between Patrick and Ryan, and threw a pillow at the light switch to turn it off.

Almost three hours later, Ryan swore on the movie that Patrick moaned so much better than he did, especially when Pete was in charge. Ryan also swore there had to be a god, because Pete didn’t do more than kiss Patrick in front of him while Ryan threw cupcake crumbs at them both, giggling with Pete and having the most fun he’d had in a long time.

. . .

“Dallon’s here!” Pete announced late the next morning with pancake mix dripping off his nose and Patrick’s glasses smeared to hell with the same mix. Pete only knew Dallon was here because Dallon had come in through the front door and announced he was home in a deep, low voice that sounded so ridiculous that Ryan broke into a giggle fit.

“Hey, kiddos,” Dallon said as he came into view of the whole kitchen. He stopped when he saw the pancake mix in Pete’s hair and on his face and the way Patrick was trying to clean his glasses with the fourth rag he’d found, grumbling unhappily to himself.

“You guys are the messiest eaters,” Dallon groaned. “Really, I mean, first graders are cleaner than you. I’ll bet if they were having sex, they’d be cleaner and safer than you.”

“Did you really just mention first graders having sex?” Pete asked with a brow raised, though Ryan could barely see it through the mess on his face. “I can totally fuck you over with that. I can have, like, eight different charges put on you. Not actually, and I wouldn’t do it anyways cause I know you don’t mean it, but hey. I learned something at university, how awesome is that? I’m over a hundred thousand dollars in debt to learn something I could’ve googled.”

Dallon rolled his eyes. “You dug the grave,” he reminded him. “Have fun lying in it. I’ve got my lady and that’s all I need. Who’s your lady?”

“Patrick’s my lady,” Pete said. 

Patrick frowned.

“No, Pete’s the lady,” Pete corrected. “Patrick is the man. The greatest man. Huge cock.”  
Patrick snorted. Dallon cackled and scooped his fingers into what was left of their pancake mix, the wiped it on Pete’s neck. Pete shrieked and swatted at Dallon gracelessly, laughing. Then he picked the bowl up, scraped up as much as he could, and threw it at Dallon. He missed and hit Ryan square in the face.

Everyone went deathly silent as Ryan sputtered and just sat their uselessly, blinded. “It stings,” he whimpered pathetically.

Dallon started giggling and Ryan felt an arm go under his own. He could tell by the height that it was Dallon and wasn’t afraid to lean on him to help him move while Dallon walked him somewhere. Harsh light grew and then there was the sound of the sink, then a washcloth at his eyes. Ryan blinked one eye open and recognized the bathroom.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, pouting a bit. “I-I didn’t expect to have raw pancake thrown at me this morning.”

Dallon hummed as he cleaned up the rest of his face. “I’m supposed to bring you to Brendon.”

Ryan tensed.

“It’ll be okay,” Dallon promised. “He’s, he’s seeing things a bit more clearly.”

“Is he coming home?” Ryan whimpered.

Dallon pursed his lips. “… I don’t think he’ll have to.”

“What does that mean?” Ryan asked, desperate.

“It’ll be okay, Ryan,” Dallon assured him. “I promise, it’ll be okay. I’m gonna take you to his new place around dinner, okay? He found the place almost two weeks ago. He’s really proud of it. He’s ready to start again as who he really is, all thanks to you.”

Ryan ducked his head and just nodded. “Is he mad at me?” he asked after a moment.

“Not at all,” Dallon said. “He’d thought you were mad at him. After the kiss.”

Ryan blushed.

“But now he knows you’re not,” Dallon said. “And he wants to talk to you.”

“C-can Pete come?” he asked in a tiny voice. 

Dallon arched a brow.

“Pete just, he’s, he makes me feel safe,” Ryan mumbled, staring at his feet. “He knows how to handle me and the stuff I’ve been through. He knows me really well even though we haven’t known each other long.”

“Yeah,” Pete’s good at that,” he agreed genially. “He’ll come.”

“Thank you,” Ryan breathed, shoulders slumping in relief.

“Of course,” Dallon replied, grinning and wiping the last of the pancake mix from Ryan’s hair. “We all kinda figured you’ve been through enough hard ship to last you a lifetime. So we all, and especially Pete, have decided that it’s gonna be smooth sailing for you from here on out, as long as we have a say in things.”

Ryan smiled a bit. “Thanks…”

“Anything for the world’s greatest therapist,” Dallon teased. “Pete!” he called out. “Be ready! We’re going to Brendon’s new place for dinner!”

There was the rush of footsteps, and then Pete was at the door, wearing a frown. “Brendon has a place?”

“Yeah,” Dallon said. “It’s pretty nice. Plenty of room for five, more than enough room for two.”

Pete’s eyes lit up and Ryan didn’t understand why.

“This is gonna be a party,” Pete said with a toothy grin, before heading back out of sight, presumably to get back to Patrick. Ryan could hear him singing and smiled at the sound, how happy Pete sounded. He liked hearing his friends happy.

. . .

Pete dressed Ryan up again, smirking the whole time. 

“You looked amazing the night of the party,” he said. “All the black with the neon. You’ve got a sexy body, Ryan, and a fucking amazing butt. You should be worshipped for your butt. I would love to just touch your butt all day, I mean it, but that’s not my place and I’m not going to tread on what isn’t mine, especially not in front of Brendon.”

“Why does Brendon matter with that?” Ryan asked, genuinely curious.

Pete just giggled and put a black button up in Ryan’s arms with a pair of purple jeans that Pete said he couldn’t fit in anymore even though Ryan found a size tag on them on the back of the thigh.

“I’m giving you my red chucks!” Pete said. “You’ll fit! I promise you will!”

Ryan just sighed and got dressed and found a receipt for this day regarding the purchase of red chucks.

. . .

Ryan was nervous as Dallon knocked on the door of the apartment Brendon know rented. It was really nice. On the second floor with a porch and a balcony Ryan could see. The apartment complex was only two stories high ti begin with and there was even lines of shadowed parking spots. Everything was a pleasant tan with dark grooves and there was a grassy courtyard Ryan could see through the complexes.

“This is nice,” Pete said.

“Lease is only for another month,” Brendon said.

Ryan jumped when he saw the door was open.

“I know the guy who owns it,” Brendon continued. “He’s letting me hold this until we go to LA.”

Pete grinned, bouncing on his toes. “I knew you were with me to the end, B.”

“Always, Pete,” Brendon said with a grin.

“Sorry for kicking sand at you,” Pete winced. 

Brendon shrugged. “In the past, right? You had your reasons. I’m not necessarily against those reasons, too. I would’ve torn into the person if he’d been kissed by someone else.”

Pete giggled and Ryan saw him wink at Brendon and jesus fuck, he was so horribly confused right now. Everyone was apparently in on some joke? Maybe an event that probably happened fairly recent that Ryan had no been brought in on. He didn’t really take offense to that. It was probably one of those, “you had to be there,” things.

“Come inside,” Brendon welcomed. Ryan stepped in last and looked around at the spacious living room with wide eyes. It was’t anything like Pete’s place, but it was infinitely better than the places Ryan had lived throughout his whole life. Ryan wondered what he would be like now if he’d grown up rich. Maybe he’d be doing something very different, like studying in England or traveling the world without a care. But the more Ryan thought about it in the few minutes it took for Brendon to show everyone the rest of the apartment, the more he realized that he liked the life he was living now just fine.

“So, I brought Top Gun,” Pete said as he sat on the couch the apartment provided. Ryan sat next to Patrick who was next to Pete, sinking into the amazingly comfortable cushions with a soft noise of amusement. “And Dallon’s got, like eight packs of popcorn and I think shitty candy?”

“Shitty candy,” Dallon echoed with a smirk.

“Fucking awesome,” Pete said. “I say we dim these lights and let Tom Cruise romance our hearts once more.”

“Tom Cruise is love,” Brendon said. He didn’t sit in the recliner next to the sofa and instead sat on the floor at Ryan’s feet. Ryan blushed but couldn’t bring his legs up because Brendon was leaning his back against them.

Dallon put the DVD into his laptop and pulled his HDMI cable from the backpack he’d brought with to hold everything, connecting it to the TV and pressing play as he went to the kitchen to start making their snacks.

The intro credits played, but Ryan couldn’t focus on anything past the feeling of Brendon’s ribcage expanding and shrinking as he breathed. He was hyperaware of the heat coming from Brendon’s body and his blush grew darker with each passing moment as he relieved the kiss again and again until he felt flustered and far too hot. He felt Patrick nudged his arm and Ryan looked to the other man. Patrick arched a brow in a silent question and Ryan shook his head to hopefully alleviate his concerns.

Brendon readjusted himself on the ground and Ryan’s legs opened a little as Brendon settled in between them. Then Brendon rested the back of his head on Ryan’s thigh and Ryan squeaked, shot his legs up onto the couch, and climbed over the back, escaping into the kitchen under the weak guise of helping Dallon prepare the snacks.

Dallon frowned. “You okay?”

Ryan couldn’t answer past the lump in his chest and just nodded.

“Hey, B,” Dallon said soon after. Ryan tensed and stared at the countertop, hands shaking as he held his breath. He could feel Brendon standing just behind him and forced himself to not flinch if Brendon touched him.

“Can I talk to you, Ryan?” Brendon asked, sounding haggard and worn. Ryan turned around cautiously and his heart clenched when he saw a look of defeat on Brendon’s face. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Brendon added after a second, now sounding betrayed. “I wouldn’t hurt you, Ry. Don’t you know that by now?”

“No, I-I know,” Ryan rushed to say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well.”

Ryan can’t remember the last time he’d lied to make someone feel better. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever done it at all. Brendon was the first. That seemed pretty special to him. 

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me,” Ryan said truthfully. “I know that. I know that better than most things I’ve known for longer.”

Brendon managed a smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Can I talk to you?” he asked again.

Ryan swallowed heavily and nodded.

“C’mon,” Brendon sighed. “The bedroom, I guess. Don’t want to disturb their movie.”

Ryan nodded and followed him down the short hall, the door to the bathroom on the right, the door to the bedroom at the left. Brendon went inside first and stopped by the bed that matched the living room furniture, so Ryan assumed it was supplied by the apartment complex as well. 

Brendon sighed again, leaning against the wall between the window and the closet. “I, uh, I need to ask you something. Something important. You might want to sit.”

Ryan sat on the edge of the bed, stiff.

Brendon stared at Ryan for a long time. Ryan fought hard to keep from submitting to the stare.

“I, uh…”

Ryan waited for Brendon to continue.

He saw something change in Brendon’s expression.

Something broke a little.  
 Then Brendon was wearing an entirely plastic mask.

“Want me to help you with the rest of you thesis?”

Ryan knew that wasn’t the question Brendon had planned on asking.

He nodded.

“That’d be nice.”

Brendon nodded and went to the bathroom.

Ryan went back to the living room.

They didn’t talk for the rest of the night.

. . .

“What happened back there, Ryan?” Pete asked softly in the darkness of his bedroom. Patrick had gone home and Pete hadn’t put up much of a fight because Ryan knew he’d been absent and unresponsive since Brendon had taken Ryan into his own bedroom. Ryan was lying on his side, facing away from the window, staring at the shadow Pete’s body cast against the wall, Pete’s skin glowing blue and cold.

“I don’t know,” Ryan mumbled after a moment. “He wanted to ask me something, then ended up asking about something else. He seemed sad.” Ryan looked away, staring at the sheets rather than the shadow, wondering how easy it would be to tear them apart with only his hands.

Pete sighed. “I’m sorry, Ryan,” he murmured. “We thought he was going to be better. We were wrong.”

“It’s okay,” he mumbled. “I wish I could help you.”

“You can,” Pete said. “He just won’t let you.”

Ryan whimpered and turned his face into the pillow, wishing he could just disappear.

. . .

Ryan didn’t go to many classes at the end of the semester. He didn’t go to any. None of the professors were emphasizing attendance and there were any tests coming up for Ryan since he just had his thesis.

He spent most of the final days sitting on Pete’s couch, pouring over the notes he’d taken from Brendon’s sessions and texting Brendon questions whenever he had them. Brendon would only ever respond in phrases less than ten words. Ryan could feel the indifference through the phone screen and every time, it made him feel a little less alive. He remembered why he’d fought not to desire a romantic relationship with anyone anymore. It hurt more than broken ribs when the other person didn’t want anything to do with you.

His thesis was the only thing he was proud of.

Patrick had been staying at Pete’s more often than not and Ryan would always take care to conveniently fall asleep on the couch so Pete wouldn’t try to force Ryan into the bed. He didn’t really want to cock-block Pete like that, especially after everything he’d done for him.

Dallon would come by and help Ryan out, sometimes with Breezy. He’d mull over every single word Ryan had down and help him critique, edit, and refine the thesis. Ryan was so unbelievably grateful to him. 

“We’re all moving to LA after this,” Dallon told Ryan. 

Ryan nodded. 

“Meaning, all of us,” Dallon added.

Ryan looked up from the computer screen to Dallon and nodded again.

“Meaning you too, Ryan.”

Ryan frowned. “Really?”

Dallon nodded.

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“Cause you’re family,” Dallon hummed. “As of now, Pete’s looking for a two-bedroom apartment so you can stay with him. But I’ve got something in the works. No matter what, you’re staying with us.”

Ryan smiled a bit and nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dallon replied with a wave of his hand. “Now, about your presentation of the data…”

. . .

Ryan was waiting outside the Psych’s building main lecture hall, waiting to present his data. He had the powerpoint on a thumb drive, he had his notes on flash cards, he had every word of his presentation down, and yet he was still terrified of failing. He was sitting on a bench, staring at the floor, trying to calm his trembling hands.

Dark sneakers stepped into Ryan’s line of sight and he followed them up to Brendon’s face.

“Hey,” Brendon said.

“Hey,” Ryan replied, shellshocked.

“I’m taking you to dinner after this,” Brendon said.

Ryan nodded dumbly.

Brendon was silent for a long moment, visibly thinking. Then, he ducked his head and kissed Ryan’s cheek. He pulled away just as quickly as he had come and went down the hall with tight steps. He couldn’t help but feel like he was being wooed with awkward gestures and lingering touches that made Ryan’s body light with fire and made him feel alive.

Ryan watched him go, mouth agape, as he tried to figure out what had happened and as his heart fluttered and remembered the touch of Brendon’s lips over and over again.

. . .

On cloud nine, Ryan aced the presentation, basked in the applause, and left with his head held high and a doctorate that only needed to be printed and shipped. He was even more elated because that horrible professor wasn’t in his usual seat.

. . .

Brendon was waiting outside the lecture hall, at the other door. 

Ryan smiled shyly at him, hands folded over his notes in front of his body. “Uh, hi.”

“Hey,” Brendon said again, managing a smile. it reached his eyes and Ryan’s heart fluttered. “How’d it go?”

“Amazing,” Ryan breathed. He blushed when he realized he was acting like a starstruck fool. Brendon chuckled fondly and Ryan hoped that meant he didn’t mind. He was very shy to this sort of thing, hadn’t really trusted himself to be open with the past two people. But Brendon already knew all those things. Ryan didn’t have much to hide.

“I’m gonna take you out,” Brendon said. “Like, for dinner. Uhm… A-a date?”

Ryan felt his heart stop. “A date…”

“If that’s okay?” Brendon asked, looking surprisingly vulnerable.

“I’d love it,” Ryan rushed to say. Then he realized he probably sounded way too eager. “I-I mean…”

Brendon smiled wider. “I’d love it, too.”

Ryan blushed deeper.

Brendon grinned and held out his hand for Ryan to take.

Ryan took Brendon’s hand and felt like he could fly.

. . .

“So, like, I know this is out of the blue,” Brendon said as they walked through the campus, their hands swaying gently between their bodies as they walked. “But, uh, I’ve kinda wanted to, like, date you for a while. That sounds lame. But I’ve wanted you for a while. Like, fuck, the night after I told you about my dreams, you remember that? That same night, you, y-you were in my dreams. Dream.”

“I was?” Ryan asked, looking to him and trusting Brendon not to let him run into anything.

“Yeah,” Brendon said. He blushed faintly. “You, uh… You, you looked beautiful.”

Ryan giggled shyly because he didn’t know what else to do and leaned against Brendon. “I’m guessing it was a sex dream,” he observed bluntly. It was funny to watch Brendon’s face go an even deeper red while a smile tugged at his lips.  
 “So I was thinking I’m gonna take you to dinner and a movie and then we go back to Pete’s and figure shit out, right?” Brendon asked. “And, uh… I feel like I know you a lot better than so many other people who have been in my life for years. And I feel like you know me better than them too, right? So, uh, I washing you’d, uh, m-move in with me? Lived with me? When we all go out to LA?”

Ryan grinned even wider and couldn’t nod fast enough.

“Fuck yeah,” Brendon breathed before leaning in and kissing Ryan like he needed to take Ryan’s air so he could breath. Ryan whimpered against his lips, then tangled his hands in Brendon’s hair, holding him close and smiling into the kiss. He wasn’t very good at kissing, but Brendon didn’t seem to mind. That was the first sign Ryan had for Brendon being someone good to have in his life like this. 

Brendon’s hand pulled from Ryan’s so both of Brendon’s arms could rest on Ryan’s waist, comforting and warm and it felt like Brendon was holding Ryan as his own. He knew it was far too early to be falling like this, so he could only hope Brendon was falling just as fast with him.

“Fuck the movie,” Brendon breathed against Ryan’s lips. “Let’s go to Pete’s. Pretty sure they’ll make us food anyways. He’s been waiting for me to tell you for fucking months, jesus.”

“Months,” Ryan repeated softly like he didn’t believe it.

Brendon smirked and kissed Ryan again. “Months,” he echoed. “C’mon. Pete’s gonna be so excited. And Dallon. Especially Dallon. He’s had to put up with some awful shit from me. I’m a bitch when I’m indecisive.”

Ryan giggled and Brendon pulled him along as fast as he could without tripping over their legs.

. . .

“I could fucking kiss you!” Pete shouted, smiling impossibly wide. “Fucking fuck yes! Fuck! I’m gonna order a pizza and a cake and streamers and we’re gonna turn the bass all the way up and we’re gonna fucking celebrate the ever living fuck out of this! And then we’re gonna pass out on the floor and gonna have an orgy after that!”

“What?” Patrick asked flatly.

“Never mind on the orgy!” Pete quickly corrected with an even stupider grin. “But there’s gonna be a cake and pizza and we’re gonna love the fuck out of each other because everyone is with someone so everyone is happy!”

Ryan almost wanted to comment on Pete’s misguided belief that a partner was required for happiness, but then he remembered how he’d felt when Brendon had first kissed him and he found himself unable to argue. He just squeezed Brendon’s hand and leaned against him more and couldn’t stop smiling. 

Pete just beamed at them both. “I could fucking cry,” he choked out, sounding like he actually could start crying.

Ryan giggled and moved forward to hug Pete, unable to get over the happiness welding in his chest. This kinda felt like every dream he’d ever had was coming true. Ryan hadn’t ever dreamed for much. A stable job and something that helped him fight thoughts of giving up completely. 

He now had, like, five things to keep those thoughts away, and he was so fucking excited for tomorrow and everything after that.

. . .

“I have a question,” Brendon murmured, playing with Ryan’s fingers as they lied on the floor in the dark living room, everyone else mostly asleep around them. 

“Ask,” Ryan replied in a whisper, watching their digits tangle and entwine. 

“You said you used to have a friend,” Brendon murmured. “Spencer.”

Ryan tensed, his fingers stilling. 

“I’m sorry,” Brendon whimpered.

“It’s fine,” Ryan mumbled. “Just, it was my fault. I don’t like to think about it.”

“Was it bad?” Brendon asked after a moment.

Ryan shook his head. “Not for him.”

“What does that mean?”

Ryan shrugged. “It wasn’t hard for him to leave. Just, one day he decided he’d had enough of me and my father. He was tired of it. Tired of being in harm’s way just because he knew me. So after high school, he left. I didn’t even know. He’d changed his number and his parents wouldn’t tell me anything. I was almost scared he’d died until his parents told me otherwise, but wouldn’t let me see him.”

“That’s pretty fucking shitty,” Brendon huffed.

Ryan shrugged again. “He did what he had to do.”

“Doesn’t mean you can step on the people who rely on you,” he bit out. “Especially when they need your help. When they’re being fucking abused. You don’t just walk out on people who are being hurt by the very people who should be protecting them!”

Ryan whimpered and kissed Brendon when he started to get too loud. The kiss distracted Brendon, but he could still feel the lingering anger in the urgency of the kiss. Brendon moved to hover above Ryan, on his knees, straddling Ryan’s waist. He could feel the heat spinning between their bodies and whimpered against Brendon’s lips, shuddering.

Brendon pulled away when he felt him tremble. “I said you don’t have to be scared of me…”

Ryan shook his head, his breathing labored. “I-I wasn’t scared.”

It took Brendon all of three seconds to get it, and when he did, he smirked. Ryan tensed, expecting Brendon to press for more, but Brendon just pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips, then lied back down on his side. He felt Brendon’s arms encase him and pull him close.

“Sleep, Ry, baby,” Brendon hummed softly. “We’ve got our futures ahead of us. And I’m not letting you miss out on a second of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda a sparse ending, i know, but i wrote this sentence and realized it worked better than anything else i could think of
> 
> long story short, shit goes well in LA
> 
> it's nice


End file.
